A Period of Adjustments
by JOSTAN
Summary: Change is never easy. A follow up to "Omens and Fools"
1. Chapter 1

Pete stood with one foot on the bottom rung of a thirty foot extension ladder; considering his options. Jim's plan was to use Jean's clothes line to help anchor the tree before they started cutting it down. The line ran from a five foot pole by the house to a thirty foot pole on the other end of the yard. Each pole had a crossbeam on the top to hold two seperate lines. This arrangement kept the clothes far enough above the ground that they would't interfere with Jimmy running around the yard.

Pete could use the ladder to climb to the top of the talller pole or let Jim do it. His father had told him that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result. He had enough experience dealing with Jim and ladders to know that it was safer to climb the ladder than it was to hold it steady for him. Halfway up, the top of the pole seemed a lot farther away than it did from the bottom. He looked down at Jim and yelled.

"You know, there's a reason I didn't become a fireman." With each step the ladder wiggled, despite Jim's attempts to hold it steady. Personally, Pete would have purchased a ladder that, when leaning,wasn't two feet shorter than the pole. As it was, the top rung of the ladder was braced against the pole and not the crossbeam.

"I'm not going to die getting shot or crashing the squad car, nope. I'm going to break my neck over a dead tree and a defective ladder." Pete was talking to himself again, but Jim didn't listen when he tried for over four weeks to cancel this tree deal. Why would he listen now when Pete was twenty feet up a shaky ladder?

Pete pulled on the rope he was supposed to tie to the cross-beam of the pole. He had tied a large knot in the end of it before he started to climb. For some reason, or maybe experience, he felt the need for a back-up to Jim's ability to keep the ladder steady. He let out the rope and swung the knot like a grappling hook. With the knot over the crossbeam, Pete let out more rope and climbed another four rungs. The knot was eye level, swinging like a pendulum when he heard a voice yell; "Pete, grab the knot!" He did. Pete would later find out that Jimmy, having gotten away from his mother, ran out of the house and smack into Jim's legs with enough force to knock Jim down. When he went down, so did the ladder.

Pete was doing a fantastic imitation of the knot's behavior right before he grabbed it. He had the knot in his right hand and the other end of the rope in his left. The rope cut into his left hand before Pete could get a strong enough grip on it to stop his fall. His legs were desperately trying to find a rung of the ladder that wasn't there anymore.

Jim was trying to put the ladder back up, but his attempts were hindered by Pete's swinging. He managed to hit his friend in the leg three times before he heard Pete telling him to forget the ladder and grab the rope. In Jim's defense, it was hard to hear Pete over Jean's yelling. Jimmy was abnormally quiet, mesmerized by the sight of his Godfather swinging back and forth in the air.

Jim grabbed his end of the rope, anchored it over his shoulder and slowly let Pete down. Once he hit the ground, Pete kicked the ladder, threw the knot at Jim and reinforced Jimmy's knowledge of the "S" word. That was the only thing Pete said before he walked to his car, got in and left. He heard Jim calling him, Jean yelling at Jim and Jimmy singing the "S" word.

Later that day, Pete showed up early for work; he had some things to do before the shift. Pete had walked past the rows of lockers to take his uniform off the dry cleaning rack without acknowledging anyone's presence. Woods, one of those who were ignored, noticed the dark cloud above Pete's head. He knew better than to ask about it.

Pete turned into the row that had his locker in it to see Jim standing there grinning like a Jack-o-Lantern. Pete wasn't sure why Reed was grinning, but whatever his intent was, it backfired. It was the same stupid grin that Jim wore after letting Pete down from the pole. Pete had calmed down since then, but that grin brought it back. Jim's attempts to talk to him resulted in one word answers, yes and no; Reed would have had a better chance of getting an explanation from a rock. Other members of the watch were arriving and they noticed the problem between the two. It wasn't like Pete to shut Jim out.

They watched as Pete slammed his locker closed, picked up his stuff and left the room. He finally spoke when Walter's held the door open for him. Pete said "Thanks, I'll meet you in the breakroom" but it was more that Pete had said to Jim the whole time they were by the lockers. Jim's attempt to chase after his partner was hindered by the other officer's questions. "What's wrong with Pete? "Why's he mad at you?" "What happened to his hand?"

Jim pushed past them and left the locker room to find Pete. That last question confused him; he hadn't noticed that Pete hurt his hand. Jim saw Pete through the window of the watch commander's office. He was talking to Mac and it didn't look like they wanted company. Jim stood by the report desk in an attempt to peek in on Pete and Mac. What he saw didn't help much; he needed to hear what was being said. He did manage to see the bandage wrapped around Pete's hand.

Pete entered the watch commander's office without knocking. Mac was alone and not on the phone, so it wasn't a big deal. He really didn't need permission to enter the office anymore, but he would do it out of respect. Messages for him were left in a box in the office these days.

Pete closed the door a little harder than necessary. MacDonald looked up from his paperwork; it wasn't like Pete to not acknowledge whoever was in the office. Pete read a message, crumpled it up and threw it at the garbage can. He missed. Mac watched as Pete picked up the crumpled message and slammed it into the can before he kicked the can into the corner. Pete ran a bandaged hand through his hair; a move Mac knew as one of the signs of frustration. This was not good.

"Pete, do you have a minute?" It wouldn't do anyone any good if Pete didn't calm down. The redhead was known for keeping his emotions in check; even during the most dangerous situations, but not this afternoon. At least he wasn't taking it out on anything but a trash can.

"Not really Mac. Can it wait?" Pete wasn't ready to share with anyone the emotions the message had caused. Showing frustration in front of Mac was different than doing it out on the street or in front of officers he outranked. Outside of this office, he would behave.

"Have a seat, my friend." He flashed Pete a smile. "You seem a little out of sorts." Pete grabbed one of the plastic chairs in the office, turned it backwards and sat down in front of the desk.

"Did your keen senses or your years of police experience tell you that?" His tone of voice reflected the teasing of one old friend to another.

"No, the dent in the trash can did." Mac was chuckling as he continued, "Let me guess, is it something to do with Reed?" The Sergeant wasn't psychic; he could see Jim trying to both hide and watch them.

Pete sighed and nodded. If Mac wanted more than that, he was going to work for it. Pete was the most aptly named friend Mac had. Still he trudged on.

"Is that how you hurt your hand?" He was hoping to catch Pete off-guard with that question. Despite the gauze bandage wrapped on his left hand Pete said that his hand was fine.

"Yeah, you just like the look of gauze and tape on your hand. I can put you on the desk…." Mac was grinning; it was an empty threat and they both knew it. Pete thought he expended all his anger before he came in, but Jim and that message revived it.

"That stupid, huge, dead Sycamore tree." Pete hadn't said much, but enough to tell Mac what he was mad about. The trouble this morning was the part of his frustrations that Pete didn't mind talking to Mac about. By the end of the tale, but Mac and Pete were laughing. MacDonald was of the opinion that if all that happened was Pete hurting his hand, they got off easy. After Jim dragged Pete into helping him put up a new TV antenna Jim was on crutches for two weeks and Pete had four stitches in his scalp.

"Why do you help him? Never mind, I know the answer." Mac paused to remember. "How many home projects did I rope you into when we were riding together?"

"Way too many, I need to start asking for more than dinner in return for my labors." Pete would never admit it, but Mac and Jim had given him the same thing in return; a brother, a family. If Jim was his "younger" brother, Mac was his "older" one.

"What are you going to do about him?" With a nod of his head, Mac let Pete know that Jim was spying on them. Pete turned and nodded to Jim; it was enough for Reed to know that he wasn't still mad at him. Then, Mac went in for the kill.

"I'm not only asking about tonight. You know it's time." Pete knew this was coming, but he was counting on Captain Moore's current vacation to delay the matter. He didn't want to think about it, yet.

"Is it Mac?" Pete stood up, putting some distance between the two men. "According to whose timetable? Mine, yours, Val's?" Pete walked to the door and stood there looking out into the hallway. Walters and Fraser were walking down the hall. The kid seemed to be getting along with his new training officer. Pete would have to check in with them, but he had time yet. Mostly, Pete was staring at nothing.

"It's not easy, is it? It's a lot to leave behind." Mac was watching his friend closely. Taking the Sergeant's exam was about much more than breaking up his partnership with Jim. It meant distancing himself from the other men. He would have to give up more than being CTO and Senior Lead; sergeants don't go out to Leroy's for a few beers, they don't belong to the division bowling league….

"You're top of the hill here; it's comfortable." Pete's head snapped to the side, green eyes darkening as he glared at MacDonald.

"It's not that and you know it Mac. How many times did you and I talk about it before you took the promotion?" Even though Mac was ready to quit routine patrol, he agonized over the decision. He finally decided that the promotion would help him better provide for his family. "I don't have a wife and kids to worry about. There's no one depending on me." Mac wondered if Pete really believed that.

"This Division needs at least one new Field Sergeant and one watch commander. So far, no one has signed up to take the exam. They are waiting to see what you are going to do." Pete paced back and forth in front of the desk.

"It shouldn't matter what I do or don't do. If they want to be a sergeant, I'm not going to stop them." Pete hadn't stopped pacing but he did run a hand through his hair again.

"Which guys in this division do you think will take a promotion over you? Do you realize how impossible a situation that would put them in?" Mac paused to let that sink in. "I know that you are only doing your job, but you do it too well. The men follow you without question. By the time we get a supervisor to a scene; everything is set up and we end up being a taxicab for the tear gas."

"Have I ever…" Pete had moved over by the desk, putting both hands on top.

"No" Mac cut Pete off. "You always step back to let the supervisor run things. In doing that, you are essentially signaling to the others to follow the supervisor's orders."

"Oh no, you are not laying that on me. If there is a problem it is the fault of the Sergeant who can't command respect." Pete knew there might be a problem if someone was promoted over him, but he was certain that wouldn't be promoted this time around.

"The point is that we are wasting a supervisor's time by sending one to a scene that you have already responded to. " The Captain had spoken to MacDonald about pushing Pete towards taking the exam. It wasn't the first time that there was a possibility of having a sergeant who was not as capable as the Senior Lead. Officer's become sergeants primarily by passing an exam; Senior Leads earn their rank by experience and ability. No one questions if they earned their stripes.

"And that's my problem? How?" Pete huffed, before walking towards the door. "I have some work to do before roll call. If there's nothing else you want..."

"You can go, but know this, my friend. You are already a sergeant, in every way but rank. Consider that."

Pete didn't want to think about any of it. Jim was sitting at the report desk when Pete walked past him. He stopped and turned when Jim failed to take up his usual place at his side.

"Are you glued to that chair? I need to find Walters and Fraser before roll call." A few seconds was all it took for Jim to be at his side. "I'll pay for half the cost of hiring someone else to take down that tree." No way was Pete going to get back up on that ladder. Jim was getting off easy, and he knew it.

They followed the sound of laughter and found Fraser and Walters in the breakroom. Walters invited them to sit at their table. Pete took the seat opposite Fraser while Jim, who lost the coin toss, got them both a mug of coffee. All three laughed when Jim gave Pete the coffee; he was muttering something about needing to check Pete's coin out.

"When was the last time you won the coin toss?" Walters asked. If he didn't know better, he would wonder if Pete was using a rigged coin. Pete thanked Jim, but ignored the muttering about his coin.

"Never, he cheats." Jim had yet to sit down. Fraser had been trying to blend into the background, but he did look at Pete then. He didn't think Malloy cheated. How could someone cheat on a coin toss?

"Can I help it if you have no psychic ability?" Pete was joking, but there was a warning in the look he gave his partner; don't joke about him cheating around a rookie. Pete had met with Walters yesterday to discuss Fraser's progress. During their meeting, Walters had expressed some concerns about the young officer, but he thought they would work out with a little more training.

"You've been working with Walters for four weeks now. I've heard what he had to say about you, but what do you think about working with him?" Pete sipped his coffee, giving Fraser time to decide on his response. As Jim took a seat at the table, he lightly brushed his hand on Pete's shoulder. It was a signal that Reed understood the warning.

"He's not as fun as Wells was, especially when he yells, but I'm learning so much more than I did with Ed." He stopped talking; hoping that Pete would be satisfied with that answer, but Malloy kept looking at him. If his intent was to unnerve Fraser, he was doing a great job at it. The silence went on until Fraser added one more comment. "I feel safer with him, Sir."

"I'm glad it's working out. Walters tells me that you are quick to learn and that you are losing any bad habits you had picked up. He says that you have it in you to be a Pro. Keep up the good work." Fraser was beaming. After everything that happened, Pete knew that what Fraser needed most was encouragement so that is what he got. Pete was very good at his job.

"We better get going or we'll all be late for roll call." Before leaving, he downed his coffee and put the mug in the sink. Jim kept pace on Pete's right during the walk to roll call and Malloy couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before he lost his "back-up".


	2. Chapter 2

There were already some officers in the briefing room when they got there. Walters, wanting Fraser to be up close, where he would be forced to pay attention to MacDonald, took a seat in the front row. Pete had taken a seat in the back of the room. Jim still, even with all the years under his belt, hesitated to sit in what was often referred to as "Veteran's Row".

"Will you sit down already? I refuse to talk to you while you are standing there like that pole in your back yard." The mention of the pole reminded Jim of something. He sat down, pulling his chair closer to Pete.

"Do you know how long Jimmy kept singing that word?" Pete found the question hysterical; he hoped Jimmy kept it up for a long time. It would serve Jim right if he did.

"Don't laugh, it's not funny. Jean blamed me for teaching him that word. For some stupid reason, she blamed you for the singing part." Pete was laughing so hard that Mac stopped the briefing he just started.

"Pete? Pete? MALLOY!" Pete finally stopped laughing and wiped the tears out of his eyes. Jim still didn't see anything funny. "Do you want to share the joke with us or have you lost your marbles?" Pete found the mention of marbles to be even funnier that Jimmy's salute to excrement. He was leaning back in his chair and laughing harder than before. One of these days, Jean was going to find out what Jimmy has been doing with his marbles.

"Sorry Mac. I'll behave now." Pete was still chuckling, but MacDonald decided that proceeding with the briefing was better than waiting Pete out. Most of the briefing was about crime statistics in the division. Woods and Greene were told to keep a watch on some warehouses that were being hit hard with 459s. The last item was more serious: a pair of armed robbers was timing their jobs to coincide with the police department's change of shift times. The theory being that there were fewer cars available to respond to a 211. It was working, too.

"Is there any description of the suspects?" It was Fraser asking the question and Pete was impressed. It was common for rookies to wait and ask their training officers about anything brought up at roll call.

"Not much. Two men wearing ski masks; one tall, with a heavy build. The other is smaller and thin. That's all we've got. No car seen. If you get a 211 late in the shift call for immediate back-up. This pair has killed two people in four jobs. Fall in for inspection,

They had been patrolling for about ten minutes when Jim brought up the subject of Pete's conversation with Mac. He didn't know what was said, but he did want to know if it was about him. It was a subject that Pete had no desire to discuss.

"At least tell me if it was about me." Before Pete could answer, a beat up Ford Falcon wagon blew through a stop sign. While Jim was running the plate, the driver got out and started towards the car; he was yelling something in Spanish. Pete got out of the car, unhooking the strap of his holster, just in case. He didn't understand much Spanish but "Bebe', Ayuda", he did know what that meant. He ran to the car and found woman in labor lying on the back seat. She was breathing hard, sweating and screaming with each contraction. Pete had seen enough to know that the baby wasn't going to wait for the ambulance to come. He yelled for Jim to call one and to bring the blanket from the trunk.

The Academy did include, in its training, a course in emergency medical procedures, but there is a big jump from watching a film about childbirth to actually delivering a baby. Over his career, Pete had delivered his share of babies; so far, Jim had been a mere spectator. The conversation with Mac came back to mind. If Pete took the exam and was promoted, Jim would be eligible to become a training officer. Delivering a baby was something Jim should know firsthand before he took on a rookie. With this in mind, Pete got out the backseat, took the blanket from Jim and pointed him in the direction of the screaming woman.

"Oh No! I'm not delivering that baby. Are you crazy? You do it!" Jim's protests had little effect on the senior partner; Pete was behind Jim pushing him into the back seat. Jim suddenly found himself on the business end of a woman in labor. He glanced from Mrs. Whoever to his partner.

"You can do it." Pete put a hand on Jim's shoulder, supporting his partner. "You've seen me do it enough times. The head is crowning, all you have to do is catch it."

The woman yelled as the next contraction started. Jim's hands were shaking but he gamely lifted the woman's skirt up over her knees. Pete was right, the head was crowning. "You can do it. Support the head." When Jim touched the baby's head a strange feeling came over him; it was as if the world had shrunk down to him, the mother and the top of a head. He still heard Pete's instructions, but he sounded far away. With the next contraction, Jim urged the mother to push and the head appeared. Jim checked to make sure that the cord wasn't wrapped around the baby's neck, just like the voice told him to. He ran a finger inside the baby's mouth and with the next contraction, he twisted the little body just enough to make it easier for the shoulders to emerge. Once the shoulders were clear the rest of the little body slipped out easily. Jim was shaking as he held the baby girl waiting for it to cry. It could have been an hour or two seconds; time had stopped for them. Then she cried and the world expanded. Pete handed Jim a smaller version of the blanket Jim fetched from the car. Jim did a quick count of fingers and toes as he wrapped the little girl in the soft flannel and laid her on the mother's chest.

They watched the ambulance leave before heading back to their unit. Pete pretended to not see the tears that Jim wiped away. He patted Jim on the back. "Congratulations Partner. You did good."

"I can't wait to tell Jean! Did you see her? She was so tiny. I thought I was going to break her. Do you think she will be alright? Maybe we should have gone to the hospital with them." Reed didn't show any sign of stopping his running commentary so Pete got on the radio and put them out to the station. He remembered the first time he delivered a baby; he remembered every one of them. Val Moore had pushed Pete into doing it, a few weeks before Val took a promotion to sergeant. Was that why Val had done it, because he knew he was leaving? Could he really be preparing Jim to become a training officer? The bigger question was why? Pete knew that he wasn't going to get promoted this time around.

"Did you see her finger nails? They were smaller than Jimmy's but he was bigger. Is she too small?" Jim was still on such a high that he wasn't even waiting for answers. Pete steered his young partner towards the locker room to change into a clean uniform. Delivering a baby is messy work. Jim's mood was catching and Pete found himself grinning too.

"His first baby?" Mac had heard enough of the one sided conversation to know what had happened. Pete nodded and kept grinning. He was proud of Jim, yes, but more than that, it was new life. In this job they dealt too often with death and too little with miracles. Every once in a while, Pete got mail at the station with a picture and a short note about how one of those children he delivered was doing. He kept them all.

"Reed's come a long way since that night in the park, hasn't he?" Pete wasn't sure where Mac was going with this so he responded with a non-committal "yeah". Mac pressed on, "Is he planning on taking the Training Officer or the Investigator's exam soon?" Now, Pete got the implied message; Jim didn't need Pete the way he had early in his career.

"I don't know. You'll have to ask him." Pete started walking towards the locker room wondering if Mac was going to stop him. He heard MacDonald sigh before heading back to the office. Jim, in a clean uniform, was excitingly telling Grant and Keating about the delivery.

"Dr. Reed, are you ready to hit the streets again?" Pete's teasing was echoed as Grant and Keating took a knee. "All Hail Doctor Reed!" Jim's ears turned a lovely shade of scarlet that was quickly spreading to his neck and face. Pete wasn't done teasing Jim. "I'm amazed Partner. Your ears are the same color as a sweater worn by a visiting Professor I had once. He called it Rutgers' Red."

Pete walked to the door knowing that Jim was following him; where else would he be? Malloy held onto the keys, debating letting Jim drive, but he decided that wasn't a wise move. Jim was still in the air over the little girl. After Jim cleared them, Pete headed towards a local park. It was becoming a trouble spot in the neighborhood.

"1 Adam-12, 1 Adam-12, See the man, 415 neighbor dispute. 908 South Flower Street, respond code 2."

Flower Street was a nice, quiet street. It wasn't the kind of neighborhood that usually required the services of a black and white. In this case, it was easy to spot the problem; two men were ramming lawn mowers together. They had drawn quite a crowd, mostly preteen boys and two women who were yelling at the men.

"Put us Code 6. I think this is going to take a lot of time for you to fix." Pete grabbed his hat and got out of the car before what he said registered with Jim. Reed grabbed his hat and baton, and then rushed to catch up to Pete.

"Wait a minute. I handled the last call. This one's yours." It was true that they alternated who took the lead on a call like this, but Pete wanted to see how Jim would handle this. Switching gears wasn't always so easy to do.

"Let's each grab one before they run over their own feet, but watch yours." Pete took the man on the left and Jim grabbed the other one. "Alright, settle down." Those were Pete's usual opening remarks, but it was Jim speaking. "Do either one of you want to explain this? You two are creating quite a ruckus. Who called this in?"

Jim listened calmly while one of the men explained that he called because his neighbor was re-mowing the first man's lawn. He objected to it because the man was mowing it in the wrong direction.

"What do you mean 'the wrong direction'? How many ways are there to mow a lawn?" The first man explained that he likes to mow his lawn so that it leaves diagonal lines in the grass. The second man argued that everyone knows that lawns are mowed horizontally. Jim looked towards Pete for help, but Pete was talking to the two women and laughing. Jim wanted to laugh too, but you can't laugh at the people you were trying to calm down.

"Sir", Jim spoke to the second man. "I'm afraid there is no law that says lawns have to be mowed horizontally."

"There should be, it's…it's…Un-American! I didn't fight a war so some 'young hippe' can do whatever he pleases." To look at the 'diagonal' man, he didn't seem the hippie type. Accountant looking was more appropriate, in Jim's view anyway.

"It's freedom. That's what you fought for. I can mow my lawn anyway I want." Jim stepped between the two men wondering where the heck Pete was. This could get ugly, fast. Malloy had come up behind the older man and was pulling his lawn mower back onto his own property.

"You cannot mow your neighbor's lawn without his permission. If it bothers you that much, put up a fence. As it is now, your neighbor can charge you with trespassing." Pete was watching the man as he considered if it was worth going to jail for. Crestfallen, the veteran grabbed the handle bar and towed his lawn mower back to the garage. Jim asked the 'hippie' to please consider paying half the cost of a fence.

"Nice of you to show up." Jim threw his hat into the car and turned on Pete. "What's the big idea of leaving me alone to handle that?"

"I was talking to the wives; getting information like names and some background on the dispute. I was watching." Jim was mad and Pete understood that. "Didn't I come back when they looked like they were going to come to blows?"

"I needed you before that and you traipsed off to joke with the wives." Jim waved a hand in the general direction of the front porch. He wasn't calming down at all.

"No you didn't….at least you shouldn't have." Jim took a step closer to his partner, giving him a full on, blue-eyed glare. Pete recognized the technique; he'd used it a lot on Jim in the early days.

"What were you thinking about when you got out of the unit? Where was your head?" His tone of voice was the exact same one he had used to chew out Jim on their first night riding together. That gave Jim pause to wonder why Pete was in "Training Officer" mode.

"I was thinking about the baby I delivered."

"That's right, you were. We can't afford to do that out here." This was survival 101; put the last call behind you before handling the next. "You were so excited about that little girl and you should be. You did an amazing job, but you can't let it affect your next call. It's easier to put the unpleasant things out of your mind. Happiness is harder to leave behind."

"I guess I'm lucky it wasn't something dangerous. Thanks Partner." Jim reached out to shake Pete's hand. "I'm glad I've got you to watch my back."

Pete smiled at his friend; he thought that he was lucky to have Jim, too. As he walked around to his side of the car Pete couldn't help but wonder "for how long"?


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey Partner?" Pete recognized Jim's tone of voice: it was the one he used when he was about to ask for something he wasn't sure Pete would agree to. He gave Jim a look, but didn't respond verbally.

"How about taking seven now?" They'd only been patrolling for three hours. Pete knew that Jim was always hungry, but this was early for him to want to eat.

"Now? We've hardly done anything tonight. How can you be hungry already? Didn't Jean feed you?" Pete was hungry, he had skipped lunch, but he wasn't about to give in without a little extortion.

"Well…..no. She was so mad about Jimmy singing that word and the tree still standing that she told me to feed myself." The first part was Pete's fault, initially, but that didn't stop him from laughing at his friend's domestic problem.

"Then why didn't you make yourself something to eat? I'm not sure I want seven now." The lifelong fisherman cast his line in the water.

"I tried….." Jim's non answer told Pete more than he needed to know.

"What did you do to Jean's kitchen?" A slight tug on the line; Pete enjoyed playing his partner every once in a while. Most times, it worked to his advantage, except for the stop at Leland Way and Comstock.

"I tried to make a TV dinner." Jim had hoped that the reason he was so hungry wouldn't have come up. He was embarrassed about his lack of what Pete calls "survival skills".

" _You Tried_? Does Jean even still have a kitchen?" Bubbles were starting to appear on the lake surface; just a little more tugging on the line and Jim will bite.

"Yes! All the smoke went away once we opened the windows and the patio door." It was time to reel him in.

"I'm not hungry. I had a large lunch. Unlike you, I can cook." Not that Pete cooked all that often; cooking for one is more trouble than it's worth.

"Okay. If you agree to take seven now, I'll pay for dinner." Pete chuckled; sometimes Jim was easier to land than a trout.

"Agreed, on one condition, we don't eat at Biff's." For almost a month, Pete had been refusing to eat at Biff's Diner. He wanted to wait until Cindy paid off the deductible for his car and quit waitressing before he ate there again.

They settled on a burger joint with patio seating. It was a nice, warm night and, for the moment, it was quiet. Jim was watching as the waitress served their meals. Pete had ordered for both of them while Jim made a phone call so he had no idea what Pete had ordered before it was delivered. It was then that Jim realized Pete lied to him about not being hungry. His friend got a double cheeseburger, large fries and a side of chili.

"Not too hungry? Ate a large lunch, did you?" Jim had been had and he knew it. Pete was saved from answering by the arrival of MacDonald.

"Hey Mac, Join us." Pete was greeting Mac like the savior he was. "Are you hungry? Reed's buying." Jim was a little too slow on the uptake and would be paying for that mistake.

"Sure. I can put away a burger or two." He chuckled and waved the waitress over. "Thanks Reed. Darn nice of you to offer." Mac added a cheeseburger and fries to Jim's tab.

"But…but..um…." Jim wasn't sure what the answer to that was. So he did the only thing he could think to do; he kicked Pete in the shin. To Pete's credit, he didn't say "ow" or draw Mac's attention to this assault by a fellow officer.

"I need to talk to you." Pete gave Mac a "who me?" look.

"Can it wait until we finish eating? I am on a break." Being on break was a delaying tactic; Mac wouldn't come out to find them unless it was something that couldn't wait until they got back to the station. Neither Pete nor Jim wanted to hear what Mac had to say. Pete was enjoying his second cup of coffee when Mac broached the subject.

"Wells came to see me tonight." He saw Jim's eyes dart to see Pete's reaction, if any. Nothing, Malloy kept his poker face. If the reappearance of Wells bothered Pete, he wasn't going to show it.

"It can't have been a month already. I still have pain in my neck." Mac didn't acknowledge the sarcasm.

"He came in to get back on the duty list. Captain Moore wanted him assigned to a different watch than the one he was on." The one Pete is still on. "Ed has asked to be put back on the same watch." Was Mac asking his opinion? Pete wasn't sure so he saved Mac the trouble.

"I don't care where you put him, Mac."

"Are you sure Pete? That might make things uncomfortable for you." Mac agreed with the Captain's decision to move Ed to a different watch.

"Trust me Mac; Ed being on the same watch isn't going to bother me in the slightest. What's he going to do?" The way Pete saw it, after being demoted and suspended for a month, Ed wasn't going to do anything to risk losing his job. That included bad-mouthing him.

"Alright, I'll let him back on his old watch." Mac down the last of his coffee and stood up. "Thanks for dinner, Reed." This time, Pete was smart enough to move his shin out of the way.

They had barely cleared from dinner when they received a 459 call to 1766 Mission Road. Pete turned off the head lights and slowly pulled in front of 1764 to see the neighbor who reported the burglary. According to a Mrs. Keri, there were two juveniles moving around inside her friend's house. Greene and Woods responded as back-up and took the front of the house. Jim went around the left side and Pete went around the right. Not seeing anyone, they were approaching the back door when it suddenly opened. A teen yelled "Cops" and took off, running around to the front and bumping into Woods. The second one had run back into the house with Jim on his tail. Reed followed him up the stairs and into a large bedroom. When he realized that he was trapped, the teenager jumped out an open window; landing on the patio with a nasty crunching sound. He looked up to see Pete standing above him.

"That wasn't too smart a move, kid." Sometimes, the level of stupidity was awfully high on this job. The boy was still looking to get away when he realized that his leg hurt. Up above, Jim poked his head out of the window to see if Pete caught the fleeing teenager. Pete was trying not to laugh when he told Jim to call an ambulance.

"Don't talk, don't move." Pete got down on one knee to check for a weapon and to see how badly the teenager was hurt. "I think you broke your leg, kid. So you know…." Pete rattled off the Miranda Warning before asking him his name and age. He wasn't at all surprised when the boy clammed up.

"Okay, don't tell me. We're going to find out anyway." Instead of cuffing his hands behind his back, they used both of their handcuffs to hook his arms to the gurney. Jim rode in the ambulance with the teenager while Pete got all the details and left Woods and Greene to secure the house.

Reed wasn't in the waiting room when Pete arrived in the ER, so he went to the nurse's station to find out where his partner was. He was talking to a very pretty nurse when Sally drew his attention away by tugging on his arm. "Can I help you?" Pete chuckled at the question; if he didn't know better he would have thought she was a little jealous.

"I'm looking for Reed. He came in with a suspect; kid with a broken leg?" She told him that Jim had accompanied the suspect up to get an x-ray. Pete was heading towards the phone when Sally grabbed his arm again; asking about the bandage on his hand. Although Pete told her it was nothing, she still insisted on taking him to an exam room to check out the rope burn. He should have known that she had an ulterior motive.

"Are you working next Saturday?" He was eyeing her suspiciously; either answer to that question could get him in trouble. Answering vaguely seemed to be the best course of action.

"I'm not sure. Why?" Pete valued his time off; his job was taking more time now that the force was shifting some watch commander duties to the Senior Lead.

"My Niece is getting married."

"Congratulations. Say hi to the bride's mother for me." Pete had met Sally's sister during his brief romance with the nurse. "Have a good time."

"Come on Pete, don't be like that." They both knew what she wanted and Pete wasn't interested in spending a day off at a wedding for a bride he didn't know. "I can't go alone to my niece's wedding. I'd never hear the end of it." She paused a moment before adding. "Can you make the rehearsal dinner Thursday night too, around seven?"

"I haven't even agreed to go to the wedding and you want me to go to the rehearsal dinner too?"

"Please." It was one of those long, desperate pleas.

"So, you need me to play the boyfriend, for two things? What's in it for me?" He had something in mind; it was only a matter of sealing the deal.

"My eternal gratitude" Pete didn't fall for the eye batting routine, especially from old friends.

"Okay. That and you cook for the season ending party I'm holding for my basketball team." Sally was a much better cook than Pete was; she was also a tad desperate. It wasn't the first time that he'd been asked to cover for an unmarried friend.

"Deal, but you have to _play_ the boyfriend. No skimping on the romance part." At that moment, looking into those determined, and beautiful blue eyes, Pete wondered why they let life get in the way of romance. She didn't object when he took her into his arms and gave her a very passionate kiss.

"Like that?" He flashed her big grin before heading off to find his partner.

Finding Jim wasn't so hard; he was coming down the hall when Pete stepped out of the exam room. When questioned, Pete told him that Sally wanted to check his hand to make sure it wasn't getting infected. Reed knew his partner well enough to know when Pete wasn't giving him the whole story. This was confirmed when Sally poked her head out of the same door Pete had.

"You won't back out at the last minute, will you?" Now Reed had two questions: what was she worried that Pete would back out of and why did she look slightly flustered?

"Would I do that to you?" Pete had turned back towards Sally, getting a little closer than Jim had seen them be in years. He wanted to shout "what is going on?" Reed's eyes nearly jumped out of his head when she laid a hand on Pete's chest and whispered in his ear.

"See you later." Pete winked at her and started down the hall towards the exit. He didn't need to look to know that Jim was on his tail. This was too good to give up the information any time soon and Pete planned on having some fun with it. Jim's non-stop questioning only ended as long as it took Jim to clear them. "Jean's going to want to know. What do you…"

"1 Adam-12, 1 Adam-12, See the man, possible 484 suspect there now, Conrad Pharmacy, 4602 7th Street, Handle code 2"

Conrad's Pharmacy was well known to the partners. Mr. Conrad had been running this Pharmacy long before Pete started on this beat. He waved to them when they entered the store. The alleged shoplifter, a boy around 16, was still in the store, which means that he had yet to commit a crime. If stopped or arrested then, he could claim that he intended to pay for the items. At Mr. Conrad's request, Pete and Jim left the store to wait to see what the kid did or didn't do. When the teenager, paid for a pack of gum and left, Mr. Conrad signaled the officers, who met the boy once he was out of the store.

"Excuse me son, I'd like to talk to you for a minute." Pete was approaching from the direction of the squad car and the boy turned away from Pete, as if to run. Jim stepped out from the side of the building and grinned at the suspect. "Why don't we go back in the store?"

Mr. Conrad intended to press charges; he took shoplifting personally. Jim informed the teenager that he was under arrest and read him his rights. The boy, who was shaking, told them that his name was Wendell Hauck. He gave them the name of his parents and their phone number. When he emptied his pockets they found: a bottle of laxative, an eyelash curler, two toy cars, a pair of reading glasses, a prayer candle and a fake clown nose. This was not your normal shoplifter.

His parents met them at the station and the three of them, plus Pete and Jim, sat down to speak to Det. Sgt. Miller. He seemed reluctant to explain why he stole that strange list of items, but the strong threat of being "grounded for eternity" loosened his tongue. The shoplifting was part of a series of "tests" that a local high school football team required of the new players. Pete and Jim were more than willing to leave that mess to Miller; they had reports to finish. The writing of reports took far longer than it should have because Jim kept stopping to ask Pete about him and Sally. He wasn't getting very far.

Watch was due to end in fifteen minutes when Mac waved Pete into the office. Jim followed. Whatever Mac wanted, it wasn't something that he didn't mind Reed hearing. Mac told them that Wells would be starting back when they switched to the Day Watch. Pete shrugged and asked if they could leave a few minutes early. At Mac's okay, the partners were almost at the door when Mac said one last thing.

"Pete, think about what I said earlier."


	4. Chapter 4

"Pete, think about what I said earlier."

Mac's voice continued to bounce around in Pete's mind. If he was honest with himself, Pete would have to admit that the Sergeant's exam has been weighing heavily on him. Captain Moore hadn't mentioned it again since their conversation in back of the station, but Pete knew it would come up soon.

A year ago, he was sure that he would take it this time, but that was before he used excessive force on that child abuser. When Pete had finished his four days off the Captain told him that there was no possible way that he would pass the interview part of the exam so soon after the incident. On general principle, they would make him wait; worrying that a promotion that fast would send the wrong signal. It was hard to get excited about an exercise in futility. It was more than that, Pete was mad at himself.

"What did he mean by that?" As soon as the door closed, Jim was gearing up for his own version of the Inquisition. "Was he talking about me?" There was no reason for Jim to think Mac had been talking about him, but still, he had noticed MacDonald looking at him through the window.

"Indirectly." Pete had spoken so softly that Reed wasn't sure he heard what he thought he heard. While he paused mid-step Pete continued down the hall. Jim sped up slightly, in order to catch up to his partner. He reached out tentatively and put a hand on Pete's right arm in an attempt to stop him from entering the locker-room. Jim knew that he wouldn't get any information out of Pete once they went in. It was then that Reed noticed something odd; Pete had both hands in his pants pockets. Technically, police regulations forbid the officers to put their hands in their pockets while in uniform as it ruins the line of the uniform and is considered unprofessional. Jim recognized it for what it was; a sign that Pete was preoccupied with something.

"What did you mean by indirectly?" Pete looked up at the question, not sure why he even said that. He didn't want to discuss this now.

"Look Jim, I know you're curious, but I need to think some things through. I'll tell you tomorrow." Please Jim, he thought, let it go this once. This only made Jim more curious, but he learned long ago when to and when not to push Pete for answers. He'd wait, he didn't know how, but he would. Sally was another matter, as far as Jim was concerned.

"What about Sally? You can't tell me that there wasn't something going on in that exam room."

"There was, she fixed my hand. I told you that then." There was no witness who could testify about what went on in the exam room and Pete would rather wait to see what, if, anything, might come of that kiss. He smiled, remembering some of the time they spent together.

"She said something about you not backing out of. Out of what?" Pete pulled the door open and went into the locker-room. He chuckled and made his way to his locker.

"Pete!" Jim was right on his heels. He put a hand on Pete's locker, intent on getting some information about what he had seen in the hospital. Sally wasn't known as a flirt, but if he had to describe the behavior between her and his partner, flirting was the word he would use. "What did she whisper to you? Come on Pete, tell me something."

They were starting to attract the attention of the other officers coming off their shift. Brinkman started it with "Who's whispering to him?" Sanchez added, "Malloy's got a girlfriend?" All Pete wanted to do at that moment was to wring Reed's neck. He needed to put a stop to this.

"Okay. You want to know what she said." Half a dozen heads nodded. He leveled a warning glare at his partner and said: "She said, don't tell Reed." Jim, realizing that he was half a second from being handed his head, didn't say another word. The other interested parties left Pete alone, but they didn't stop speculating on the current status of Pete's love life.

"I need to talk to Mac, about the schedule." He closed the locker, tucking his key ring in the pocket of his jacket. "I'll see you tomorrow."

MacDonald was elbow deep in reports when Pete entered the office. Before Mac could start, Pete held up a hand to forestall the questioning. "All I want is to ask for next Saturday off." Wordlessly, Mac checked the book and put Pete down for the day off.

"Can I ask one question?" Mac respected Pete's desire for privacy, but he had to know one thing. Pete's right hand went up in what could be called a gesture of permission.

"Did that message you got before the shift have anything to do with work?" The evidence of its effect on Pete was still sitting in the corner, although Pete did notice that Mac had turned the dented portion of the can towards the wall.

"No", he said, with a distinct sigh. "It was from Judy. Good night Mac." He wished Pete a good night, and went back to his paperwork. Inside, MacDonald was seething in righteous anger for his friend's sake. He wondered why she couldn't leave the guy alone. In his mind, Pete deserved better.

Twenty minutes later, Pete was parked outside the ER at Central Receiving. Sally was a little late, but he was often guilty of leaving work late so he pulled a book out of the glove compartment and waited. She was worth it. He had been surprised when she invited him to dinner/breakfast after their shifts, but the more he thought about it, the happier he was. Once she got into the car, Pete drove them to a small café near the hospital. It had been a special place for them and going back felt right. Pete was holding the door open when shots rang out from the liquor store across the street. He told Sally to go in and call for help and to stay there no matter what.

Pete took up a position behind a mail box near the liquor store; it was all the cover available. He heard more gunshots; a shotgun and a handgun. Pete prayed that Sally was safe. His mother assured him that she prayed every day asking St. Michael to protect him. Pete hoped that Michael was watching as two people in ski masks ran out of the liquor store's front door. Was this the "Mutt and Jeff" pair that Mac had briefed the watch about?

"Freeze! Police! Drop your weapons!" They answered his order by shooting at him. The mail box took most of the damage as Pete returned fire. First the big one, with the shotgun, went down, followed by the smaller one. Pete held his position, waiting for help. From where he was, Pete couldn't tell what condition the robbers were in, but they weren't moving. People were coming out of the nearby buildings. He ordered them to stay back and breathed a sigh of relief at the sirens heading his way.

When the first car came to a stop, Pete stood up, displaying his hands. He didn't want to be shot before he could identify himself to officers he didn't know. One officer was aiming his weapon in Pete's direction while the second one checked the two wounded people. As directed, Pete laid his gun on top of the mail box before stepping out from behind it.

"I'm a police officer. I work out of Central Division." The officer kept his gun pointed at Pete. It was dangerous to take an armed person at their word about being a police officer. Pete was reaching for his badge and ID when another squad car pulled into the lot. He recognized the supervisor as he got out of the station wagon.

"It's nice to see you staying out of trouble Malloy." Sergeant Landy teased Pete at the same time waving to the responding officer to put his gun away. Someone had called an ambulance; he could hear the distinct siren.

"Good to see you too, Sarge. Do you mind if I retrieve my gun before we continue to chat?" Pete held out a hand to the officer who had taken his gun off the mail box. He was returning his gun to its holster when he heard one of the responding officer's report on the condition of the two people he shot.

"The man's dead Sarge. The attendant says the woman is in bad shape. He doesn't think she'll make it."

"Woman?" Pete staggered back and came to rest against the Sergeant's wagon. He hadn't stopped to notice anything besides the guns pointed at him. How was he supposed to know? In all his years on the force, he had never shot a woman; it felt wrong. He knew Sgt. Landy was speaking to him but everything was white noise. All his attention was on the woman lying on the sidewalk and the blood pooling beneath her.

Unnoticed by Pete, another station wagon pulled into the liquor store lot. Apparently, they had called his division because MacDonald got out of the car. Sgt. Landy briefed Mac on what he knew about the shooting and on Pete's reaction to it. Both Sergeants knew Pete's reputation for being "unflappable"; this was not normal. Mac slowly approached his friend before laying a hand on Pete's shoulder.

"Pete? Are you okay?" Mac was putting light pressure on the shoulder. The siren started as the ambulance pulled away. Pete watched until it was out of sight. "Pete?" Mac tightened his grip on Pete's shoulder; forcing Pete to finally acknowledge him.

"Mac? What are you doing here? Where's Sally?" Pete's eyes were searching the crowd; he had to make sure that she was alright. He smiled when he saw her arguing with an officer. She was insisting that she needed to be let into the crime scene. Mac, seeing the same thing, waved her in. He wasn't sure why she was there, but maybe she could help calm Pete.

"Landy radioed the station once he saw that you were the shooter." Sally rushed to Pete's side, putting her arm around his waist. She didn't ask him anything; she had already figured out that he wasn't hurt. Seeing that, Mac wasn't sure which question he wanted to ask first. Sally and Pete?

They were still at the scene when word came that the woman had also died. Pete wasn't reacting well to the news; he started pacing, running his hand through his hair. He was certainly shaking. Mac had only seen Pete like this twice before: the first time he killed a man and when his partner was killed. When Pete went down the alley, Sally followed. Mac didn't have to see to know that Pete was vomiting.

Down that alley, in the dark, Sally held him.

Four hours later, Pete was answering the same questions he had answered at the scene, only now it was Sgt. Miller and Sgt. Powell asking the questions. Sgt :amdy and Mac sat in on the interview.

"Why were you there?" He told them.

"How many times did you shoot?" "Twice." He emptied his gun to show them.

"Did you aim to kill or wound?" "That's a stupid question; what would you do if someone was shooting at you?" Pete's patience was long gone by now.

"You're an expert marksman. Why didn't you aim for the shoulder?" "An instructor at the Academy told me once, 'Shoot for the chest; hope for the best'. I didn't want to insult him by dying,"

"Did you know that one of them was a woman?" "No, they had ski masks on. Next time I'll call a time-out to ask that before I shoot." Mac called for a break and told him to tone down the sarcasm.

Pete was tired, hungry and had reached his limit on coffee. All he wanted to do was go home and sleep so he didn't hesitate to follow the sergeants out to the scene. It was the last thing required of him in the investigation. When the reenactment was over, Pete was finally able to go home. It was 8 am.

Pete did one thing before lying down on his bed. He shut off the ringer on his phone.


	5. Chapter 5

While Pete slept….

Perhaps it was chance, fate or dumb luck, but the morning newspapers went to print before the story about the shooting came out. A policeman killing a woman, no matter the justification, would get a lot of attention. The news shows would broadcast it on television, but newspapers were still the preferred choice of most people. That meant fewer people were looking for him, not even Mrs. O'Brian knocked on his door. If his name wasn't already out, it soon would be.

Capitan Moore was not happy. MacDonald's early morning call had interrupted a private moment between the Captain and his wife. He knew as soon as he heard Mac's voice that whatever the problem was, it would cause him to cancel his vacation. He'd lost count of the amount of times he silently, and verbally, had berated Parker Center for not yet appointing a lieutenant to the division. He hung up the phone, poured the rest of his wine into his wife's glass and tried to explain leaving her three hours from home with four teenagers and no car. He left in the morning.

Not surprisingly, his thoughts were on what awaited him back in LA. So far, he wasn't within the broadcast radius for LA radio stations, but soon he would start hearing the media's opinion of what happened. It was never good press when an officer kills someone, but Pete had killed two including a twenty-two year-old woman. He tried to imagine how that would feel; police don't usually shoot women. How many times had he told his own sons to never hit a woman? How many times did he tell them it was their duty, as men, to protect women? Moore was sure that Pete grew up with those same teachings about how to treat women. In that light, Pete's reaction was understandable.

Mary MacDonald was trying to get her husband to sit down and eat breakfast. He had arrived home two hours ago, adding details of the shooting that he didn't have time to tell her while at work. She shared her husband's worry about Pete. Mary has known Pete since his days as a rookie. He won her heart when he spent an afternoon correcting her sister's husband on almost everything the "know-it-all" said. After that, her sister came alone to family picnics.

"Would you react any other way to having to kill a woman?" Mary knew her husband well enough to know that it would bother him too.

"Probably not, but I have you to help me deal with something like that. Pete doesn't have anyone." When Pete came out of the alley, he was back to normal; Sally's help at the scene wasn't a guarantee that she would help him deal with it later.

"He may not have a wife, but he has you and Jim." Sometimes, Mac needed to have the obvious pointed out to him. She would have tried to get him to sleep, but the phone kept ringing.

Over at the Reed house, Jim and Jean were enjoying a late morning. Jimmy had spent the night over his grandparent's house so the couple lingered in bed. Like many couples with children, they treasured the rare times when they could really talk about things. Jean filled him in on Jimmy's progress on reading, her war against Jimmy's foul language and her plans to continue her own education. First, Jim retold her all the details of delivering the baby. After that he speculated about whatever was going on with Pete and Sally. It was a nice way to spend a day off; until the phone rang.

Jean sighed and handed the phone to her husband before climbing out of bed and putting on her robe. If Mac was calling on Jim's day off, it wasn't a good sign. "I'll start breakfast." Jim blew her a kiss before talking to Mac. Whatever he expected it wasn't this.

"Jim? is Pete over there or have you spoken to him today?" Mac's tone of voice set the hairs on the back of Jim's neck on edge. This wasn't the usual call to come in to work.

"No. Did something happen to him? Is he alright?" When he last saw Pete he said he was tired and going home to bed. What trouble could he have gotten into asleep?

"He's not hurt. I mean, not physically." Jim wanted to scream at Mac through the phone. "Have you seen the news this morning?"

"No, I was sleeping late. What about Pete?" Jim listened to the whole story, occasionally asking a question. Mac finished off by telling him about Pete's reaction to killing a woman. That did scare Jim some. He knew that Pete deeply regretted having to kill anyone but always kept up a professional front when he was force to do it. Despite his stoic demeanor, Jim had learned to read the pain in his friend's eyes. He hung up the phone after promising to go check on Pete if they didn't hear from him soon.

Jim called Pete every ten minutes for over an hour. Initially, he assumed that Pete might be in the shower, so he tried again. Okay, a long shower; still no answer. He discussed with Jean, the possibility that Pete might be asleep, but they discounted it because Pete always answered his phone in case work was calling. Their hopes were turning into fears with each unanswered phone call. The one thing they didn't even consider was that Pete had simply turned off his phone.

A little after noon, Jim couldn't keep his imagination in check. Pete hadn't called into the station to see when they would need him. A discreet call to Central Receiving provided no clue to his partner's whereabouts. They did have Sally's number from when Pete had dated her, but Jean was able to convince Jim to not call her. If Pete was there, he would not look kindly on being interrupted.

In the end, Jim gave in to his worries and drove to Pete's apartment. He parked near Pete's car; it presence in the lot upped Jim's fear. He didn't think Pete would do anything rash, but it was out of character for him to disappear intentionally. Jim peered into the car; maybe Pete had parked and fell asleep in it. Nope, no Pete in the car. Mrs. O'Brian, who was pruning a rose bush, came over to speak to Jim. She told him that as far as she knew, Pete was in his apartment. There wasn't much that went on in the complex that she didn't know about. He thanked her and promised to let her know if there was anything wrong with Pete.

Jim knocked on the door; no answer. He knocked louder; still no answer. He pounded and yelled for Pete; no answer. That left Jim with one option. He took a keyring from his pocket, searching among the keys for the ones to Pete's apartment. If he was in there, why didn't he answer the phone? Jim unlocked both the deadbolt and door knob lock and opened the door. The apartment looked normal; there was no sign of anything wrong, but where was Pete?

Down the hall, in the bedroom, Pete was very slowly wakening. Exhaustion had allowed him to fall into a deep sleep despite the troubling thoughts he had. He flipped over in bed intent on going back to sleep, but his brain registered the sound of footsteps in his apartment. There was nothing like hearing footsteps in your apartment when you lived alone, to make even the deepest sleeper wide awake. When the door started opening, Pete grabbed the gun he had left on his night stand and pointed it at the door. Then he heard Jim say his name.

"Dammit Jim! I almost shot you! What are you doing here?" Pete still had his gun pointing at his friend. It would take a few seconds for him to relax enough to put his gun back on the nightstand.

"I'll tell you, but…can you stop pointing that gun at me?" It suddenly dawned on Pete that he was still holding him gun. He took a deep breath and placed the gun back where he got it. Now all he needed was for his heart to stop racing.

"Sorry, now, answer my question." Surprisingly, he said it with a chuckle.

"You scare me half to death and you _laugh?_ " Jim saw absolutely nothing funny about the events of the last two minutes. "I guess I'm lucky that you didn't shoot me."

"Yes, you are. I'd have hated to go tell Jean that I _shot_ you. She might not let me see my Godson anymore." He was outright laughing; Jim wondered if his friend had lost his mind. He narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to see Pete better.

"Stop staring at me and tell me why I almost shot you for lurking around in my home." Honestly, now that he saw it was Jim, Pete found the situation comical. His continued chuckling was worrying Jim; was there something wrong with Pete?

"Are you okay Partner?" Jim's head was weaving back and forth as he tried to get a better angle of view. He wondered why Pete would have had his gun lying on the nightstand instead of it being locked away.

"Other that my heart racing, yeah, I'm fine." Pete reached over and turned on the lamp by his bed. The thick curtains kept the room from being too bright to sleep in during the day. "You still haven't told me why you are here."

"You didn't answer your phone." Jim realized how silly the answer was, now that he could see that Pete was, in fact, physically okay. Maybe a little misdirection was called for. "Mac was worried about you."

"Mac was?" Pete wasn't buying that excuse. Mac wasn't the one standing in his bedroom looking goofy. "Funny, I don't see Mac."

"He called my house looking for you when he couldn't get you on the phone." Jim was eyeing Pete for any signs of him being 'off'. "Why didn't you answer the phone?"

"Believe it or not, I was asleep. I tend to do that every day or so." Pete turned, putting his legs over the side of the bed and reached for a pair of sweat pants. "Don't just stand there. Make yourself useful and put on a pot of coffee."

Fifteen minutes later, Pete sat sipping his coffee and trying to ignore the noise Jim was making as he rummaged in the cabinets for something to eat. It was giving Pete a headache.

"Would you stop that? There are bagels in the drawer on the left. Think you can toast us each one without setting my kitchen on fire?" Pete knew Jim was waiting for him to talk, but he really didn't know how to start.

"I turned the ringer off…on the phone." Jim paused mid-bite. Pete shutting off the phone? Wasn't he the one who taught him to always answer the phone? "I was tired and I didn't feel like answering any questions."

"Why was your gun on the nightstand?" Pete, brow furrowed, stared at his friend. Where did that question come from? Did Jim think he was going to….

"I killed two people last night. Wouldn't you be a little worried that they might have had a driver we didn't see; a friend who might not like the fact that I killed that girl?" Pete got up to pour himself another cup of coffee. He paused, keeping his back towards Jim.

"Pete? Are you okay Partner?" Even at a distance, Jim could see Pete tense up. Since Mac's phone call, Jim had wondered how he would feel if he had killed the young woman. He knew it was eating at Pete. "She didn't give you any choice. Mac said they matched her gun to the one that killed the store owner's wife. You do know that she would have killed you, don't you?"

Pete came back and sat down. "I'm okay Jim. Yeah, it was a shock when I found out, but it was them or me." He kept to himself the fact that he was sure she would appear in his nightmares for years to come; they all did. "I'm not worried about that part." That's when Jim realized what was bothering Pete the most; he was going to be raked over the coals by the press and the public. He had already heard comments about it on the radio as he drove to Pete's.

"They haven't released your name yet. Mac said that there is a press conference set for 4 this afternoon." Pete, who had taken a seat across from Jim, sat with his elbows on the table and rubbed his temples. Reed waited for Pete to look up before continuing. "Captain Moore wants you there by three, so he can talk to you before the press conference. I don't know if he wants you at the conference."

"Are you planning on taking one of the upcoming exams?" Jim's jaw hung open, a little, at the question. Where had that question come from? "You talked about the investigators exam months ago. Are you going to sit there and tell me that you haven't thought about it since then?"

"Jean wanted me to take it." He was stalling and both of them knew it.

"Partner, that's not what I asked you." Mac had insinuated that he was keeping Jim back by not trying for Sergeant. "Have you considered taking the Training Officer exam?" Pete was giving Jim the same look he gave Fraser the night before; a glare over his mug of coffee. He would wait the younger man out. The Captain was sure to bring it up later today and he wanted an answer to give Moore.

"I'm not ready to be a training officer. You know so much more than I do about this job." In Pete's experience, some of the best training officers he knew approached the job as an opportunity for both partners to learn.

"Yes, you are." It was a pure statement of fact and the glare he gave Jim dared his younger friend to deny it. The last thing Pete wanted was to hold Jim back. He took the next step.

"Don't wait on me, Partner. If you want a promotion, go for it." Pete wondered if it is hypocritical to urge someone to do something you weren't yet willing to do, if it was best for the other person.

"Are you going to take the Sergeant's exam?" Jim had the gall to call him on his hypocrisy. Pete was well aware that not wanting to break up their partnership had played a part in his reluctance to take a promotion. He'd seen how a separation in rank could cause the loss of a friendship. Still, his friendship with Mac hadn't suffered since Mac became a sergeant.

"Yes, I am." Pete decided to keep Captain Moore's assertion that he wouldn't be promoted this time around to himself; nor would he share what Mac said was the result of Pete not yet signing up for the exam. Jim deserved to be given the chance to decide his future without having those two facts to consider.

"Jim. Do what's best for you."

.


	6. Chapter 6

"Then he told me to do what was best for me. I'm supposed to leave him out of the equation." Jim was pacing the length of the kitchen, despite Jean's attempt to get her husband to take a seat. What Pete had told him earlier had shaken Jim. He knew that at some point Pete would be promoted, but he still wasn't expecting it. Didn't Pete understand that he still had things to learn from his former TO?

"I'm sure he thinks you're ready to move on. Would he be considering becoming a sergeant if he didn't?" Half of Jean was glad that Pete would be taking a promotion and the other half was terrified. She had been encouraging Jim to take the investigator's exam, hoping he would wind up behind a desk. If he didn't and Pete got promoted, would his new partner watch out for Jim's safety as much as Pete did? Would Jim be in even more danger by becoming a training officer? She hated that Jim risked his life to save Pete after he was shot, but she also knew that Pete wouldn't hesitate to give his life to protect Jim.

"That little baby is alive because Pete was there to tell me what to do. What kind of training officer would I make?" Sometimes, Jean knew more about Jim than he did about himself. Should she tell him what Pete had told her of Jim and the kind of policeman he was? Did he know that Pete thought of Jim as one of the best policemen he'd ever worked with or that Pete refused to take credit for that?

"Jim, Pete wouldn't be planning on taking a promotion if he thought you still needed him the way you did as a rookie. Wasn't that the point of his being your training officer; to make his presence unnecessary?" Jean came up beside Jim, placing a hand on his arm and resting her head on his shoulder. He put his hand on hers and gave her a reluctant smile. "You have to let him go."

Meanwhile, Pete had showered and shaved as soon as Jim left. If his name and picture were going to be released to the press at 4, he had some errands to run while he was still unknown. He took care of some banking, dropped off his laundry to be washed, returned a book to the library and stocked up on some groceries. He was pulling into his usual parking space when he spotted David. The boy was sitting on the bottom of the stairs, a duffle bag at his feet.

David jumped up when he saw Pete. The boy stood there with his hands in his pockets, his head lowered. It tore at Pete's heart to see the young man like that. The duffle bag said it all; he was running away. Pete's latest attempt to get Judy to let David see him had resulted in the very nasty message he got last night at the station. He muttered softly, "Same to you."

"You wouldn't be thinking of running away, would you?" Pete put a hand on David's shoulder, waiting for the boy to look up. When he finally did, Pete saw the beginning of tears on the boy's cheeks. He searched his mind to find something he could tell David. Pete wouldn't trash Judy to her son, but he wouldn't agree with her either. "Come on inside. We can talk about it while I put away the groceries."

While they worked, David filled Pete on the latest dealings at home. A few days ago, David had given both his mother and Pete a copy of the same letter. It had reasoned arguments for letting him continue to see Pete; to be able to go fishing, play with the basketball team, and have a man to teach him those things his mother couldn't. Pete wasn't sure who had helped David write the letter, but it was definitely above his writing level. Yesterday, Pete had called and left a message for Judy about possibly meeting to discuss the letter.

"Can't I stay with you, Pete? Mom keeps punishing me for talking about you." Pete shook his head and passed a can of soda towards the boy. He knew he hurt Judy by breaking things off, but he hadn't expected her to be this vindictive. It couldn't have been a surprise to Judy when he stopped seeing her; they had spent most of the last months of their relationship arguing.

"This is the first place she'll look for you." He hadn't forgotten Judy's threat to report him to his division for child stealing. That was a far cry from her insisting, on their first date, that she couldn't see anyone who didn't care about her son. David had latched onto Pete, who treated David as he would treat a son. Now, she was punishing them both for that bond.

"I'm sorry David. I never meant to hurt you." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, handing it to the crying boy. "Mind, I don't regret a moment that we spent together. I thought you would be my son." Pete paused, not sure how to approach the problem. In his mind, he had no doubt that Judy had driven him away with unreasonable demands. Worse, he knew what her reaction to what happened last night would be. She had said on several occasions that she didn't want David looking up to a "killer".

"I want to be your son. Can't you do something?" Was David asking him to reconcile with Judy? They had been careful to avoid arguing in front of him; he didn't know a lot of what had happened between Pete and his mother.

"I tried to talk to her yesterday. She won't take my calls." David sniffed and wiped his eyes. "She doesn't see that I had no choice about stopping to date her. She's hurt." More like she was holding on for spite, but he would keep that thought to himself.

"You can't make her happy again?" The pleading in those innocent blue eyes almost made him wish that he could. Is punishing him worth hurting David or was that the point? She had to know how it was tearing him up inside to see David upset.

"No. I can't stop being a cop; it's not my job, it's what I am. Your Mom wants me to quit the force." He waited for an answer. Did David understand? Judy didn't understand. Actually, Pete's own mother never understood either.

"That's not fair. Jim says that you're the best cop he knows. You can't quit." There was pride in David's voice; he had always looked up to Pete. He had never told Judy, but he saw, in David, a lot of the traits that caused people to want to be cops. Despite that, he never tried to steer David toward a career with the police force. He wouldn't want it on his conscience.

"I'll keep trying with your mother, but promise me that you won't run away from home? She's doing this because she loves you." His opinion was that it was a twisted kind of love. If she wanted David to stop seeing him she could have done it without hurting the boy. Over time, they might have grown apart, but this way made David cling to Pete.

"I have to be at work soon. Will you be okay if I drop you at Jim's house and ask him to take you home?" If he had the time, he would love to take David home and give Judy a piece of his mind, but today wouldn't work. Pete carried the duffle bag to his car and drove David to the Reed's house. There, he found out that Jean had volunteered to take David home; assuming that Judy would be less likely to go off at Jean. He hugged David goodbye, kissed the top of his head and drove away.

There were protesters and reporters on the sidewalk outside the station when Pete arrived. The news had already been given the information that it was an off-duty officer from Central Division who had stopped the hold-up. No one had cast a glance in his direction; he was safe, for now. Once inside, Pete went in search of MacDonald.

Pete finally found him in the roll call room, supposedly working on the paperwork about the shooting. What Mac was actually doing with quite different. He was sitting at the desk, head lying on crossed arms. Pete wasn't sure, but he thought he heard some light snoring. Rather than teasing Mac, Pete closed the door before knocking on it. He received a yawn-filled "come in" from Mac.

The bloodshot eyes and the bags under them confirmed Pete's assumption that MacDonald hadn't gotten much sleep. It was irrational to feel guilty, but Pete did anyway. Mac refused an invitation to the breakroom, but did ask Pete to bring him some coffee and a snack. Over coffee, Mac shared with Pete the statements of the witnesses, the ballistics report and the report of Sgt. Miller. It all pointed to an in-policy shooting, but things wouldn't be settled until the review board met to weigh the evidence. That's the one thing Pete wasn't concerned about.

"Did you see Jim today?" Pete had a feeling where this was going.

"Yeah, I almost shot him. Thanks for sending him over to check on me." Sarcasm; it was worth a try. It was his one hope for deflecting the coming discussion. The look on Mac's face was so perfect that Pete burst out laughing.

"Please tell me that you are joking." Apparently, Mac didn't see anything funny.

"No, I'm not. When I didn't answer the door, he let himself in." Mac was waiting for more. "I was asleep when I heard him in the hall. I had my gun pointed at the bedroom door when he spoke." It had been too close.

"Did you talk to him?" Such a wide open question deserved a wide open answer, as far as Pete was concerned.

"Of course I did. It would have been rude not to." Pete knew he was pushing it, but he'd known Mac long enough to know where to draw the line.

"Keep it up Malloy and I'll assign you to Wells when he comes back." Although it was said with a grin, Pete had a feeling that it wasn't an empty threat.

"Even you aren't that cruel." Oddly, Pete was more concerned about how Wells would react to being partnered with him than he was about himself. After what happened he saw no reason to rub Ed's nose in it.

"I would… but you are on administrative leave until the review board meets. Have you spoken to Val yet?" MacDonald had gone back to arranging the reports and statements about the shooting.

"It's not three o'clock yet." Pete tended to be a tad ornery when he didn't get enough sleep. Mac knew to not take it personally. Instead, he attempted to steer the conversation back to what he wanted to know.

"What are you going to do about Reed? He won't try for a promotion until you do." MacDonald wasn't pulling his punches anymore; it was time, by his count, to push Pete into making a decision. "Are you being fair to him? Maybe you don't want to move up, but he might."

"Did I say that I didn't want a promotion?" MacDonald was surprised by the anger he heard in his friend's voice. Pete glanced up, as if the answer to his frustration was waiting there for him. He stood up suddenly, slamming a fist on the table and sending the chair he was sitting on into the wall. "Don't you understand? It doesn't matter if I take the Sergeant's exam or not. I'm not going to get promoted this time around and I'm going to end up having to transfer out of here."

Pete turned and left; he needed some air.

Initially, Pete had intended on leaving the station to go sit in his favorite spot in the back. He reconsidered that once he saw how many reporters and cameramen were gathered in the parking lot. That left him with very few options for fresh air; the locker room reeked of sweat, but it was empty. That's where Mac eventually found him. Pete didn't bother to look up when Mac took a seat next to him on the bench.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mac might be, as his wife has told him, a bit dense, but it didn't take long for him to figure out what Pete meant. He had totally forgotten the excessive force complaint; it was so out of character for Pete. Funny, Val didn't mention it when he urged him to push Pete to go for the promotion.

"Not really." With a shrug of his shoulders, Pete continued, "What's the point? I can't change what I did; no matter how much I want to."

"We don't know wh…." Pete cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

"Yes, we do know what the promotion board will do. If I ace that exam, I'm still not going to make sergeant. It's too soon." Which is where the transfer came into the equation; privately, some of the older officers have told him that they would have trouble following the orders of someone promoted over him. He had standing offers for positions in other divisions, so transferring wouldn't be logistically troublesome, but the thought of it made him sick to his stomach.

"That's all the more reason to take it this time around. Let the promotion board punish you sooner than later." MacDonald's first priority was to get Pete to agree to take the test. He knew that Captain Moore held the same opinion that Mac did; five minutes of anger shouldn't wipe out over twelve years of dedication and exemplary performance. Did Val Moore have a plan? He was sure pushing Mac to get Pete to promise to take the exam.

"Then what? Spend the next year teaching at the Academy? Go walk a beat at Newton?" Mac could see that Pete was more upset with himself than with the system. It was MacDonald who thought Pete would be treated unfairly. He couldn't say that and Pete wouldn't. Pete stood up and opened his locker. The noise almost covered the one thing he did say.

"I told Jim to move on."


	7. Chapter 7

"I told Jim to move on."

Mac knew there was no response to that statement that would make Pete feel any better. He had that same feeling once; knowing that something special might end and having no choice but to risk the loss. When it was his turn to move up and become a watch commander he worried about losing friends. The change in rank had caused some friends to drift away but there was one who became an even closer friend. Some people stay with you always.

There was a difference though. Mac suspected that Pete was right about not getting promoted this time around. It was unfair; if only Pete had listened to him and Captain Moore and gone for sergeant years ago. He understood why Pete chose to stay in the ranks; he had started at this division. If Mac hadn't had a family to support, he might have waited longer too. The truth was that he had come to depend on Pete being there to handle the overload. It was nice not having to worry about training or settling differences within the ranks. Who would take over if Pete transferred out?

Pete hadn't moved; he stood there staring into his locker. He couldn't take it back now; couldn't change his mind. He had told Jim he was taking the exam which meant he had to do it. MacDonald got up from the bench and rested a hand on Pete's right shoulder. He could feel the tension in Pete's shoulder almost as if his muscles were vibrating.

"Put on your class A and come to Val's office, we'll be waiting for you. Mac moved off before turning back to his friend. "You did the right thing."

Meanwhile, Jean was parked on the street in front of the house that Judy rented. David had forgotten that he had his key or they would be inside putting away David's things from the duffle bag. Originally, the plan was to get the boy home with enough time to hide the fact that he had tried to run away. Jean meant to have a talk with Judy. She was going to lose her son if she refused to listen to reason.

Judy got home shortly before three. She always did in order to be there when David got home from school. Seeing her son getting out of Jean's car was a shock; was there something wrong with David? Her worry grew when she saw him pulling a duffle bag from the back seat of the car. David gave Jean a hug, then picked up the heavy bag and walked past his mother, head down to avoid looking at her.

"Get back here, young man!" Judy had turned towards her son, demanding his return. When David didn't stop his approach to the door, his mother managed to take two steps before she felt Jean's hand on her arm, stopping her.

"Let him go. He's already upset." She had seen Pete close to tears as he hugged a crying David, before leaving him in her care. Pete was family and Jean always stood up for her own. She was determined to convince Judy to stop hurting both Pete and David. It might help if she understood Judy's actions, but neither Jim nor Jean could figure out what Judy's goal was.

"He's my son and he'll do what I tell him to or I will force him to obey me." Her comment was contradicted by the slamming of the front door. Evidentially, David had remembered the key he usually carried and was ignoring his mother. Jean held her back from going after the boy.

"He's not a dog; you can't make him obey you by yelling at him." Initially, Jean had been willing to give Judy the benefit of the doubt as far as what happened between her and Pete. After all, there were always two sides to a break-up and the truth usually falls somewhere in the middle, not that Pete had discussed it with her. Jim had spoken to her about the growing dissatisfaction he was noticing in Pete before he "dumped" Judy. According to Judy, Pete abandoned her and David without a cross word between them.

"Did you see what he was carrying?" Judy nodded, she had seen the bag, but it hadn't really registered what that meant. "He packed his clothes and things in that duffle bag and skipped school. Your son was running away."

"David wouldn't run away from me. I'm his mother." Jean was leading Judy to the chairs on the front porch. It was more private than standing on the lawn discussing David's actions.

"Every year, over a million kids run away from home. Don't you think some of those parents felt the same way?" Jean paused, giving Judy time for that to settle in Judy's mind. "You're lucky. He ran to someone he trusted for help instead of disappearing without a word."

"He…he went to…You?" Judy was finally starting to understand the gravity of the situation; she almost lost her son.

"No. He went to Pete, asking if he could live there. Pete asked us to bring David home because he was due at work." Judy closed her eyes and slumped down in the chair. Her son actually preferred to live with Pete than her? She was devastated but she was also feeling a tinge of anger. Jean saw the spark of anger in Judy's eyes. Had Pete done something to deserve this?

"It's not bad enough that he left me? He has to steal my son too?"

"If Pete wanted to take him away from you David wouldn't be up in his bedroom putting away his things." Jean's dander was up; she would defend her friend. "The worse thing Pete's ever done to your son is to love him. This separation is hurting both of them. Are you that hungry for revenge?"

"He said he loved me. I even took care of him after he got shot. He owed it to me to stay with me." This conversation was really opening Jean's eyes to how things had been. "All I wanted was a normal life, like I had with Dan" It took Jean a few seconds to make that jump; Dan was Judy's dead husband. "If Pete loved me, he would have done what I wanted him to, but he chose his job over me."

"I'm sure he meant it when he told you that he loved you, but people change." As Jean pressed on, preventing Judy's attempt to respond, there was one thought fighting its way to the surface. Had she pushed Jim as hard as Judy pushed Pete? "You can't expect someone to change because you want them to. You knew what he was before you ever went out with him." The knowledge that she had once demanded that Jim quit made Jean realize that she owed him an apology.

"I knew he was a policeman but I thought life would be different. You can't tell me that it doesn't bother you when Jim goes to the fights or bowling or playing poker instead of coming home. At least Jim doesn't waste his time helping juvenile delinquents instead of being with you." Apparently, Pete was supposed to play the faithful Irish Setter; at least it seemed that way to Jean. It was time to get to the point.

"You can't use David to get back at Pete. It's hurting your son. Do you understand that?" Judy nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes. "He loves Pete. Let them spend time with together. They may grow apart if you don't force them to stop seeing each other. David could do a lot worse than Pete for a role model."

"David really ran away, didn't he?" Judy's realization of what she's been doing didn't guarantee that she would change. She stepped off the porch to get a view of the window into David's room. Her son was standing there, framed by the window, watching her.

"I think you need to talk to him. Do what's best for David." Jean left Judy to her thoughts; she had an apology to make to Jim.

Pete took his time getting dressed; he wanted the break to suppress his emotions. He had to think clearly if he was going to deal with the impending press conference. Mac wouldn't have told him to get into uniform if the Captain didn't intend for Pete to be there. So far, Pete had been avoiding any news about the shooting; he didn't need to see it to know that it wasn't good. He'd been through this before, having people question his decision and protesting the killing of a citizen. When he did show up at the Captain's office, they had him wait outside for a while. He couldn't help but wonder what about this mess they didn't want to discuss in front of him.

The part of the meeting Pete was in there for centered on the facts of the shooting and what, if anything, he should say to the press. Captain Moore would be taking questions and wanted Pete there mostly for show; to emphasize that they had nothing to hide. Pete answered all the questions without hesitation, until the last one. He wasn't sure the answer was any of Moore or MacDonald's business.

"What did that message you got yesterday mean?" Pete's eyes shot to Mac, the question in his glare was answered by a shake of Mac's head. He hadn't told the Captain anything about it.

"Don't blame Mac. I overheard that you got a very cryptic message from….Judy?" Great, just great, whoever took the message was spreading it.

"With all due respect Captain, it was a personal message." It was bad enough that Judy called, but to leave that message….

"Let me decide. What does "Felix Unger" mean to you, that it doesn't mean to me?" Moore sat there waiting for Pete to explain it. Pete did consider not answering, but let out a large sigh before speaking.

"I assume you know the play?" He really didn't want to explain the entire plot of "The Odd Couple". Both heads nodded and Pete continued,

"In it, Oscar is yelling at Felix and says: 'I cannot stand little notes on my pillow! 'We are all out of cornflakes, F.U. It took me three hours to figure out that F.U. was Felix Unger'."

Both of them laughed, they knew exactly what Judy meant by "Felix Unger." Pete was very grateful when they refrained from asking what he'd done to deserve being told that.

The press conference went the way those things do. Moore briefed the reporters on what had happened the night before. Then he identified Pete as the off-duty officer involved in the shooting. The protesters shouted insults and nasty comments at Pete; he was gun crazy, anti-woman and a killer; the usual stuff. The Captain got the crowd calmed down enough to answer questions from the reporters. Most of them were legitimate questions; all of which were answered by Moore. Pete cringed when he saw the next questioner; Dennis Hansen was a slug.

"This man next to me is Timothy Fisher. He would like to know why Officer Malloy killed his sweet, young daughter." Val Moore's attempt to answer was cut-off by the noise that Hansen was encouraging. "Let him try to justify killing a young woman." The Captain looked in Pete's direction; did he want to answer it himself?

"I shot her because she was trying to kill me. It's that simple." Pete felt bad enough about it without having to defend himself before a hostile crowd. "I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Fisher."

Moore talked over the booing crowd. "As I said before, both people were wearing parkas and ski masks. Neither the survivor in the liquor store nor Officer Malloy knew that one of the shooters was female. Thank you for coming."

For obvious reasons, Pete didn't want to leave the station right after the press conference was over. He was going to the breakroom for some coffee, but Moore asked him back to his office. Pete chuckled when the Captain started to pour two coffees; Val wanted something from him. It was with this in mind that Pete chose to lean against the bookcase by the window instead of taking a seat in front of the desk. They hadn't ridden together in almost ten years, but each knew what the other was doing.

"I see you still feel more comfortable saying 'no' from across a room. One day, I will get you to explain that quirk of yours." He handed Pete a mug of coffee before taking a seat at his desk.

"So, you do want something from me then?" He took a sip of the coffee all the while keeping an eye on his former Training Officer. There was a time that Pete could tell what Moore wanted just by the look he was getting from him. "What can I do for you, Skipper?"

"I want your promise that you will do your best." Now it was Moore's turn to watch his friend over a mug of coffee. Pete's brows rose; he wasn't trying to hide his surprise.

"My best, at what? Tiddlywinks? Chess? Singing at your daughter's wedding? You've got to be a bit more specific." Pete had an inkling of what Moore wanted; it wasn't that hard to figure out what that closed door meeting with Mac was about.

"Mac tells me that you are going to take the Sergeant's exam this time. I assume that's true?" The only response Moore got was silence. Pete's reasoning was simple. Why encourage him? Moore would get around to it without his help. "I know I told you that you wouldn't be promoted this time and that's true, but I want you to promise me that you will do your best on the exam." Pete's first response would have been "why bother doing all that studying to fail" but he learned as a kid to keep his snarky comments to himself. Besides, the general question irked him.

"Have you ever known me to not do the best that I can, on anything?" The low growl wasn't heard by the Captain. "Besides, we both know that the written test isn't the problem." There were two parts to the Sergeant's exam; a written test and an interview. The promotions weren't automatic.

"No. You always do, except for when we were playing football with my sons." He smiled, briefly, before continuing. "I need everyone to know that you not being promoted had nothing to do with your knowledge or experience. Will you do that for me?" Pete didn't see that it would make any difference, but he gave Val his word.

Pete had gone into the Watch Commander's office to pick up his messages. He was planning on returning all of them, but one caught his eye; suddenly, he didn't feel like working anymore.

Sally had called to invite him to dinner.


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing Pete did was call Sally to see when she wanted him to go over to her apartment and to ask her what he could bring. All she wanted him to bring was himself. It was thoughtful of her to realize that he really wouldn't want to stop at a store tonight. The press conference was bad enough, but it was worse running into people who recognized him while he was out of uniform. Some of them would praise Pete while others would verbally abuse him; very few would leave him alone.

MacDonald had expected to find Pete in the watch commander's office, what he hadn't expected to see was the smile on Pete's face. You didn't need to be a sergeant to notice the complete turn-around of Pete's mood. He had been sitting behind the desk to use the phone, but Pete stood when Mac entered the office.

"Sorry Mac, I'll get out of your way. The inner office is empty." Pete had scattered message over the desktop; he was mostly working. Sally wasn't expecting him for over an hour so he was killing time returning phone calls and day dreaming about her.

"There's no hurry. I'm going to be here for a few hours yet trying to finish all the paperwork." Mac was giving Pete the once over, twice, trying to figure out the smile he saw. "You seem pretty happy for someone who got yelled at by a mob not an hour ago. What's up?"

"Nothing Mac, I'm just making the best of a rotten situation." Pete knew Mac was curious about what Sally was doing there last night but he wanted to keep that private, for the moment. He finished collecting his messages and tried to get past Mac, who was having none of that. The sergeant was an inch shorter than Pete, but was broad shouldered enough to block his friend's path.

"You are either crazy or something has changed in the last half hour. Fess up Malloy." Pete's attempt at a "Who me?" expression was negated by the big grin he wore. It had been a very interesting phone call. Mac kept moving to block off Pete's avenues of escape. "Do you want me to guess?"

"Maybe I'm drunk. Did you think of that?" It was a smartass remark, but they were alone in the office; no one else would hear it. Pete reached back and tugged on the top drawer of the desk. "Where did I put that scotch?"

"Cut that out before someone comes in here and hears you." Considering the laugher it was spoken with, the rebuke wasn't all that effective. Mac turned his head side to side, checking for people within hearing distance before adding to the conversation. "When you find it, I'll join you in the inner office to share whatever is left."

"OOOOhhhh. I'm going to tell Val on you." Pete wagged his index finger at Mac, much like his own mother used to do to him; still did some times.

"I'm safe as long as you don't tell Mary." It felt good to laugh; plus, it eased some of the worry Pete's friend had been feeling over him.

"No way am I telling her. Mary will stop feeding me if I get you drunk." Pete did pause to wonder when the last time was that Mac actually got drunk; most of the officers he knew drank in moderation knowing that they were always, technically, on-duty.

"How about helping me keep her happy? I've got a few hours' worth of paperwork to do before I leave." Mac set a large pile of reports on the desk. "If you have the time…." He left that sentence hanging like a carrot in front of a mule; he wanted Pete's help, but had hopes that he could catch Pete off-guard and find out why he was happy.

"I have an hour or so that I can contribute to the cause." Pete had glanced at the clock to be sure. He hated being late for anything but tonight especially. The two of them didn't say much while they worked although Mac did tell Pete that the review board would be meeting in the morning at Parker Center. That was a surprise; it was unusual for the board to meet so quickly after a shooting. MacDonald took it as a good sign while Pete wasn't so sure.

Pete set another folder on the "done" pile and stood up, pushing the chair back to its place by the wall; intentionally ignoring Mac's questions about his plans for the evening. He had ended up spending more time helping Mac than he had planned to; as a result, he didn't have time to go back to his apartment before meeting Sally. It wasn't a problem; Pete had worn dress pants and jacket with a tie to work that afternoon.

He parked the mustang on the street in front of her apartment building. It was U shaped and had a courtyard and pool in the middle. The first two people who spotted him were an elderly couple sitting in the shade. The woman, presumably his wife, whispered to the man and pointed a finger at Pete. A teenage boy stopped swimming to yell "killer cop" at him a few times. He almost turned around rather than let Sally's neighbors know that he was going to see her. Before he could do the noble thing and leave, he heard Sally calling his name. Pete shook his head at her, but he was smiling.

"You are something else, do you know that? I was about to leave before your neighbors saw us together." She took his hand, leading him into the apartment. From the corner of his eye, Pete saw the glare she was giving the teenager.

"I don't care what they think. Heck, I work so much that I don't even know most of their names." They had that in common; nursing, like police work were not 40 hours a week jobs. "Come on in. The food is getting cold."

"It smells delicious. What is it?" The small apartment was filled with the most amazing aroma. Pete's stomach growled in anticipation.

"Chicken Paprikash." She reached up to fix the knot in his tie. "You look nice. What's the occasion?" He loved the spark of mischief in her eyes.

"I've got a date later. Since when do you make Hungarian food?" During their brief romance, home cooked meals were scarce; cooking skills weren't high on her list or his.

"Then she can feed you." He leaned over and gave her a brief kiss. "or I can. Would you mind opening the wine?" The wine bottle and corkscrew were already on the table. Pete opened and poured the wine while Sally served the Chicken over a bed of dumplings.

By candlelight, they ate and caught each other up on their lives. By silent agreement, no mention was made of the night before. Sally told him about her family and provided him with the details for the wedding. Once again, she thanked him for agreeing to take her; going alone would have resulted in her aunts' speculating on the odds of her ending up an "old maid". Pete chuckled and refilled their wine glasses, expressing the opinion that she didn't look like an old maid to him. In turn, Pete told her about his campaign to teach Jimmy all the things a little boy should know, but wasn't told by their parents; how to sneak Oreos, making snow, blowing raspberries in church and crashing fruit displays being among them.

"You're terrible. It would serve you right If Jimmy told his mother who is teaching him those things." She wasn't really scolding him. In fact, Pete got the distinct impression that she performed that function for her nieces. She choked and shot wine across the table when he told her about Jimmy's new song and where he learned the word.

"Did you have to teach him that in English? I have heard you say that exact word in French." In fact, Pete knew that word in Polish, German, Hungarian, Latin, Yiddish, Italian, Gaelic and Spanish. Most of his childhood friends were either the children or grandchildren of immigrants and their kids shared the more colorful parts of their languages with each other.

They lingered over dinner but finally Sally got up and started to clear the table. Together they washed the dishes and put away the leftovers. She had told him earlier that one of her favorite movies was starting at nine; wine glasses and desert were set out on the coffee table. Initially, they sat a foot or so apart on the couch, but as they watched "The Court Jester" Pete put his left arm on the back of the couch; his fingers touching her shoulder. To the sound of Danny kaye babbling, Sally slowly shifted closer to Pete and he tightened his arm around her.

Sally had forgotten how good it felt to be in his arms. She was resting her head on his shoulder and using her free arm to loosen his tie. By the time she got his tie off and the two top buttons of his shirt undone, he was kissing her. She was running her fingers through the curly red hairs on his chest when the phone rang. That was another thing they had in common, a dedication to their jobs, so of course she answered it. The phone call didn't take too long, but by the time she was done, Pete was asleep on her couch.

She thought he looked kind of cute sitting there and turned off the television before sitting close to him. He stirred only long enough to wrap his arm around her shoulder before falling back to sleep. To the soft sound of Pete's snoring, Sally joined in the slumbering. The moon was high in the window when she was suddenly jolted awake by Pete's body jerking. He was still asleep; she could see the movement of his eyes beneath the lids and hear the muffled sounds.

Sally knew a nightmare when she saw one, but waking him up might be difficult. They had once spent the day at the beach when he fell asleep on the blanket. During a nightmare, Pete had swung his arm wildly as if he was hitting someone. She reached up to wipe the sweat off his forehead and called him by name. His eyes snapped open and he almost jumped off the couch in panic; only the weight of Sally's body against his kept him on the couch. His head moved back and forth; trying to figure out where he was.

"Shush, Pete. You're okay, you were having a nightmare. Calm down." He was breathing heavy, the vein in his neck visibly throbbing, but he nodded in understanding.

"Give me….a few minutes." Sally wasn't sure he was okay, but she had the idea that he might want a drink. Pete grabbed the water and quickly downed all of it. "Thanks" It took five or six minutes before Pete calmed down enough to talk.

"I know it's a cliché but it does help to talk about it." Sally was sure the nightmare involved last night's shooting; she had dreamed about it and she hadn't killed anyone. "Pete, please talk to me."

"You know what it was about." Pete was still sitting next to Sally on the couch, but he wasn't holding her any longer. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, rubbing his temples.

"I assume it had something to do with last night. Tell me. I want to help." Pete rarely shared his feelings with anyone. Call it the habit of an only child; you learn to deal with issues by yourself. He stopped rubbing his temples and looked into her face. He saw many things in those soft blue eyes: compassion, acceptance, honesty, trust and so much more.

"I was before the review board, answering their questions. The reporter Hansen, Mr. Fisher and Fisher's daughter, Sharon were the people hearing the case. The board usually meets alone with the officer, but in my …nightmare...there was an audience calling for them to charge me with murder. Sharon declared me guilty and sentenced me to death. I was being strapped into an electric chair when you woke me up."

"Oh, Pete." There were tears in her eyes when she pulled him into a tight hug. As he held her close, she could feel the tension leaving his body. Pete drew on her strength, using it to find his own. It was a strange feeling, one he hadn't felt since childhood, yet, it was different; his parents weren't the ones holding him now. There was a comfortable silence between them until a sleepy Sally broke it.

"It's blond" Pete quirked a brow; he was dumbfounded as to what that meant until she traced the line of his jaw with her index finger. "Your beard, it's blond. Isn't that weird?" Pete smiled, he wasn't about to point out that it was a weird time to bring up his chin stubble.

"Beards don't match the hair on a man's head." He had been told that once on a call. Sally slid her left hand into the open collar of his shirt causing Pete to twitch; he was ticklish.

"It doesn't match your chest hair either. That's sort of a reddish gold on top." Pete stopped her hand's downward motion by putting his over hers.

"I'll thank you to stop your search right where it is." He was laughing, but he still didn't let her put her hand any further down his shirt. She pulled her hand back before leaning up to whisper something in his ear. The kiss she gave him stopped any comment on his part, but it did nothing to quell the blush that colored his cheeks.


	9. Chapter 9

"No bet", Pete chuckled as he kept a grip on Sally's hand. "I have inside information, remember?" They both heard the chime of her clock. "This was fun, but I need to get going."

"Are you sure you want to go home?" Pete had leaned forward to pick up his wine glass; no sense wasting what was left. He glanced at her sideways, his eyes narrowed. What was she up to?

"No, but I need to. I'm only going to get about five hours of sleep as it is." He had told her earlier that the review board was meeting at nine tomorrow morning, actually this morning. Then he noticed the worry in her eyes; she was afraid that he might have another nightmare. "I'll be fine. I promise."

At nine-thirty the next morning, Pete was sitting in a hallway in Parker Center. He had arrived ten minutes early only to be asked to wait outside for forty minutes. They didn't give him any reason and as a result, his mind was running through a string of possibilities; none of them sounded good. Why rush to convene a board only to delay it? He was getting a headache.

"Pete?" It wasn't often that someone was able to approach him without his noticing them before they spoke. This morning he almost jumped out of his skin. Captain Moore gave him a few seconds before he spoke again.

"Aren't you supposed to be _inside_ the hearing room?" Val pointed towards the large oak double doors in the wall across from Pete.

"Tell them that. I got here on time and was asked to wait out here." By now, Pete was back to normal; he wasn't giving anything he felt away. "I could have slept in." An officer opened the doors, asking Pete to come sit before the board. He stood and Val put a reassuring hand on Pete's shoulder. "Try to relax."

As directed, Pete took a seat in front of the three members of the review board; none of which he knew personally. The Chairman, a Captain Butler, apologized for the delay, citing a need to review some last minute reports. Pete confirmed his personal information, badge and id numbers, service dates, rank, etc. before giving his version of events. When he finished, he sat back, waiting for the questions to begin.

"Officer Malloy, are you certain that you identified yourself as a police officer before shooting the suspects?" Part of Pete wanted to tell them to read the reports and the witness statements, but he kept his tongue and answered in the affirmative.

"Could you have identified them if you didn't shoot? Did you have any idea who you were shooting at? Why did you decide to shoot?" This question was from a lieutenant in Hollywood Division.

"No Sir, they were wearing ski masks and I shot because they fired at me, _after_ I gave them the warning." He paused a moment before continuing. "I was more concerned with stopping them than I was of trying to ID them.

"Would you have shot at them if you knew one of them was female?" So that's where the lieutenant was going with his questions.

"Yes Sir, I would have. She shot at me first." Pete managed to not roll his eyes at the question. Should he have let her shoot him instead?

"Do you regret killing that beautiful young woman?" The third member, a sergeant working in Parker Center, contributed that question and Pete resented the phrasing; it made it sound like he shot an innocent girl.

"Whether I regret it or not, isn't germane to the issue." He returned the glare he was getting from the third member. "I'm not required to answer questions like that."

"I want to know if you believe in God, Officer Malloy. What do you think his opinion of you killing a twenty year of woman would be?" This wasn't the first time Pete had faced a review board member who didn't understand that personal beliefs and values aren't, according to law, relevant.

"If I end up in Heaven, I will be sure to ask him what he thought about the shooting, but not being God, I can't answer it now." He has stepped over the line with a flippant answer; how else was he supposed to answer it? Pete felt that his soul was his own business.

"Sergeant, Officer Malloy's religious beliefs are none of our concern. Do you have any questions related to his actions the other night?" Once again the sergeant spoke up.

"I can see by your uniform that you are a Distinguished Expert. Did you shoot to kill?" Pete was sure that his honest answer would not help him with the sergeant, but he gave it anyway.

"I was shooting at two moving targets that were shooting at me, so yes, I aimed for the chest." It was the best way to say that he did shoot to kill; he always did. Pete was certain that the sergeant wasn't a fan of his.

"Shouldn't an expert, like you, aim to wound a suspect instead of aiming to kill?" Before he could answer the question, Captain Butler did it for him; citing department policy against aiming to hit an arm or leg. To aim to wound was considered a dangerous move. It was too easy to miss and would put the lives of the officers present at risk. "Does anyone have a _relevant_ question?"

Pete nodded to the captain in a gesture of gratitude. When the other two members of the board declined to question him, Captain Butler asked Pete to wait outside.

Pete didn't know what to think. The review boards he faced before asked a lot more questions and then sent him home to await their decision. He was surprised to see that Val Moore had waited for him to come out and the Captain was equally surprised that the board had told Pete to stay. They took a seat to wait; Moore did, anyway. Pete couldn't sit still. He knew he had no choice about the shooting, but that was no guarantee that the board would see it that way.

"Will you sit down, please? They aren't going to come to a decision faster if you keep pacing." Moore had sweated out his share of shooting review boards himself; pacing in much the same way Pete was doing now. He chuckled to himself, remembering a green as pond scum rookie with bright red hair. He had trained six rookies and while they all became good cops, Pete was different; he was constantly questioning Val on why things were done a certain way, arguing for a different approach when he thought he was right. For most cops, it was enough to know the rules, not the whys. That drive to understand every angle enabled Pete to evaluate a situation and come up with a solution faster than others did; it was, in Val's opinion, why he deserved to be a sergeant.

If you asked Pete later, he would swear that he waited in that hallway for hours, instead of the twenty minutes it actually was. He was wanted back in the hearing room. After some wrangling, Captain Moore was permitted to accompany Pete, who was now standing in front of the board members. It was Captain Butler who delivered the board's verdict.

"Officer Malloy, as you know, having been through this before, that our normal procedure is to notify your commanding officer in writing as to our decision. The unusual aspects of this shooting necessitate our taking action as quickly as possible."

It was cool in the hearing room, but as he stood waiting, Pete could feel the trickle of sweat running between his shoulder blades. He didn't think that the board's wanting a swift verdict boded well for him. From the corner of his eye, Pete could see his former training officer bracing himself; preparing to protest the board's decision.

"Thanks to the dogged determination of the detectives working you case, we had all the information needed to make our decision today. The public has a right to know the truth as to your actions on the night of the seventh, but a delay in reviewing this incident left it open for speculation by the public and the press. It is truly disturbing that a young woman died that evening. Many will speculate as to your guilt or innocence even after we release our findings." Butler paused, glancing towards the sergeant on the panel

"It is the judgement of this panel that your actions constitute an in-policy shooting. Every report and witness statement agrees that you followed accepted procedures. At the discretion of your commanding officer, you are restored to duty."

Pete wasn't sure he heard right, but he thanked the board for the time and effort they put in on his behalf. He stood in place, not daring to move until Moore patted his shoulder.

"Come on, you have a shift to finish."

Thirty minutes later, Pete was reaching for the handle when the door was opened from the inside. Ed Wells almost ran into him, but stopped short, causing another officer to bump into his back. Pete didn't recognize the officer but had an idea who it might be; the division was expecting a transfer from Wilshire Division. If he remembered right, the guy's name was Orlando.

"Hello Ed." Pete received a grunt of acknowledgement, which was actually more than he had been expecting from Wells. Pete introduced himself to the newcomer and shook his hand. He seemed friendly enough. MacDonald had approached Pete about putting the transferring officer with Wells; the thought being that it might be an easier adjustment for Ed if they put him with someone who had no part in what happened. Rumor had it that Captain Moore gave Wells a strong lecture about keeping his opinions of Pete and what happened to himself.

He found Mac in the watch commander's office behind two large piles of papers. His old friend didn't look happy to be there, but he looked up when Pete entered and smiled.

"I heard the good news. Are you ready to hit the streets?" Mac moved some papers around on the desk, searching for something. When he stopped, he picked up a set of keys and held them out to Pete. "Here, take the wagon."

"What?" Pete's eyes narrowed as he watched the keys swinging before him. He wasn't about to take them from Mac without figuring out what he was up to. Why the station wagon?

"Take the keys already. My arm is getting tired." When Pete didn't take them, Mac tossed them to him; he caught them by reflex. "The wagon's all ready. You'll be 1L-70."

"Oh no, I'm not doing that. Just give me a regular L car and keep the wagon for yourself." All he wanted was an ordinary L car; a little peace and quiet to think things over but L-70 was a supervisor call number. He also hated driving station wagons.

"It's the Captain's order. I have a lot of work to do and there is no field sergeant on this watch. Someone has to do it." Mac wasn't sure Val was right about this; why push Pete when he would be passed over this time?

"Let Walters or Sanchez do it. They're the one most likely to make sergeant this year. They can use the experience." He sighed and put the keys on the desktop. "I already know the job, for all the good it's going to do me."

"I'm following orders Pete. Take the car and get out on the street." That said, Mac went back to his paperwork, ignoring the scowl on Pete's face.

"1L-70, Day Watch clear." It was a very unhappy policeman who, in a station wagon, pulled out of the lot. If Pete thought his day had taken a quick right turn and gone downhill, Ed felt even worse over in x-ray 45.

"Oh man, that's him? I can't believe he's on the same watch that I am. Wilber, my old partner told me all about Malloy." Ed knew it had to be Wilber Janney that Orlando was talking about. He had worked at Central before transferring to Wilshire and had ridden with Pete for a few months before he left. Ed's non-comital grunt went unnoticed.

"Where you there when got the Medal of Valor for hiding in a getaway car's trunk and saving the life of another officer? Man that took guts! Two against one." Wells couldn't decide if getting a partner who admired Pete was God's idea of just punishment or an example of Mac's warped sense of humor. It was probably a little of both.

"I was there." After that bank robbery the only person who didn't think he deserved the Medal of Valor was Malloy; that fact bothered Wells. If he had done that, he would be demanding to be awarded the Medal; sometimes, he really didn't understand Malloy. Ed felt no obligation to point out that Pete, along with Jim, was credited with saving the lives of the hostages in the bank too.

"Is it true that was the second time he won it?" Orlando's eyes were glowing; this was bordering on Hero worship. Wells wondered what Janney had told this kid.

They were approaching an intersection when a bright green Ford Pinto blew through a red light, causing several cars to slam on their brakes, including their unit. Wells was grateful for the distraction. After a brief chase, the car pulled over to the curb. Ed leaned against the front of the unit, letting Orlando handle the driver; he wanted to evaluate the younger cop's ability. It was a habit from his days as a Training Officer.

Orlando wrote up tickets for reckless driving and running a stop light, but when he handed it to the driver, the man refused to sign it. After several attempts by Orlando, Wells went over to help but even the threat of calling a supervisor and possible jail time didn't change the driver's mind. He was adamant and loud. Ed sent his partner to call for a supervisor; Orlando came back and told Ed that L 70 was responding. Odd, that wasn't one of the usual designated numbers used at Central.

Ed was glad that Mac had arrived to deal with this very annoying young driver. It was lucky that Orlando was already walking towards the station wagon; he was far enough away to not hear Ed quietly swearing. Malloy was the last person he expected or wanted to get out of that car. Out of uniform Pete had what was referred to as "an air of relaxed authority"; in uniform, he tended to be intimidating to those who didn't know him well.

Pete waved Ed back and took over dealing with the driver. Due to the fact that Pete was about four inches taller than him, the driver was forced to look up in order to meet Pete's eyes. He explained to the young man that signing the ticket wasn't an admission of guilt and told him that he would be arrested if he didn't comply.

"You won't arrest me, man. Stop jiving me." It was said with all the confidence of youth. Pete chuckled a moment and then told the driver to assume the position; hands on his car, feet back and spread. "No way cop." If he thought he could out stubborn Pete he was dead wrong.

"Do it now or I will do it for you." Pete's tone was so cold and his glare so threatening that Orlando had to fight the urge to assume the position. The driver quickly did as instructed. Pete was halfway through the Miranda warning when the kid interrupted; agreeing the sign the ticket. As he passed 45, Pete handed the ticket book back to Orlando, who thanked him for his help.

Ed was pulling away from the curb when he heard Orlando start up again.

"Did you see that kid's eyes bug out? Man…." Ed wanted to bang his head on the steering wheel.

 **A/N: While not stated in the episode, which ends shortly after Jim's rescue, Pete's actions in "Trouble in the Bank" do meet the criteria for being awarded the Medal of Valor. MacDonald makes sure that Pete knows he would be putting his own life on the line and he does it anyway. He made a conscious decision to face down two bank robbers, knowing it was going to end up in a shootout. It could easily have ended up with both Jim and Pete dead. That is why I chose to put it into this chapter.**


	10. Chapter 10

Other than the call dealing with Wells' annoying ticket recipient, Pete was having a very quiet day. As a rule, supervisors aren't given regular patrol type calls; the idea being that the supervisor has to be free to handle any potentially dangerous situation. There was only one problem with that; he had to keep stopping himself from speaking out loud. Jim wasn't there to bounce ideas off or to joke with when the day was slow. The only company he had was the radio and even that wasn't very lively.

Jim's shift was similarly slow, it wasn't, however, quiet. Rather than assign him to an L-car, MacDonald had partnered him with Jerry Woods. During their partnership, Pete had, on several occasions, accused Jim of talking too much. Maybe he was right, but compared to Woods, Jim was as chatty as a comically famous Norwegian Blue Parrot. Football, Jerry's kids, who would be playing on the division basketball team and the latest episode of "All in the Family" were covered. Eventually, Jerry got around to Pete and his situation.

"Is Pete okay? I haven't seen him since before this whole thing started." Jim had been trying to stay out of the discussion in the locker room, but he did notice that Woods wasn't one of those speculating on the issue. He appreciated that.

"I think he's worried. The press is calling him trigger happy and reckless without knowing him or what really happened. What If someone on that board feels the same way?" In fairness, Pete hadn't voiced those sentiments, but Jim knew that was on his mind. He also knew Pete well enough to know that his friend wouldn't call "foul" even when he had a right to.

"It was in-policy, right? I heard it was." Something about Woods' tone sat wrong with Jim. He was about to say so when Jerry added "Pete's too good a cop for it not to be."

"1-Adam-12, Ambulance traffic, TA. corner of Upton Place and Eagle Vista Drive, handle Code 2." Jim was grateful for the distraction; his imagination was running amok. If Pete were here he would give Jim a lecture about keeping his mind on his work, but if Pete was here, Jim wouldn't be worried.

The traffic was backed-up so far that Jim had to drive on the wrong side of the road, which wasn't that difficult since there was no oncoming traffic. They saw why when they got to the intersection; two cars and a pick-up truck were blocking the entire intersection. Woods put them code six and went to try and direct the traffic on Eagle Vista through a parking lot in order to clear the road for the ambulances. Jim was checking on the victims. A small car was sandwiched between the pick-up and a station wagon; a middle aged couple inside were clearly dead. The driver of the pick-up had gotten out and was helping the family from the station wagon. Before he could begin to ask questions, Jim heard from the other drivers and the witnesses that the compact car had blown through a red light.

An hour and a half later Adam-12 cleared from the accident scene and requested seven at the corner of Lankershim and Carpenter. Woods waited until after the waitress took their orders before starting up again. Jim was beginning to see the advantage of having a laconic partner.

"Are you signing up for the Training Officer exam?" Jim took a few sips of water, using the time to consider his answer. Truth was, he hadn't really decided yet. "I mean, Pete is taking the Sergeant's exam this time, isn't he?"

"He said he was." It was too much to hope that Woods would take the hint and stop asking about promotion exams. What bothered Jim most wasn't that Pete would be taking the exam, but that he would make that kind of a decision without discussing it with him beforehand. The decision to end a partnership should be made by both officers, shouldn't it?

"Don't you think he'd be a good sergeant?" Woods, had picked up the hesitation in Jim's answer and couldn't help but ask some more questions. Everyone knew that Pete would be promoted this time around, didn't Jim?

"Of course I do. I'm his partner. I know better than anyone what kind of a cop he is." He felt the irrational need to defend his partner; a partner who didn't seem to care whether Jim was ready to move on or not.

"Then what's the problem? You knew he would be going for a promotion this year." Jim needed to talk about all this, but it was Pete, not Woods, who had the answers he wanted. Jean had tried to convince Jim that Pete probably didn't have a choice about taking the exam; it made sense, but why not tell him that?

"I haven't decided what I want to do yet." The questions paused while the waitress served them their lunch. At least food would shut Woods up.

"What did Pete say? Did he tell you to take the TO exam?" Jim sighed and then became very interested in his burger; much too busy to talk.

"Mac's here. I wonder what he wants." With nod of his head, Jerry pointed out to the wagon pulling into a parking space. Jim's only thought was "I'm not paying for his lunch this time". Both of them were a little surprised to see Pete step out of the car. Jim watched as Pete waived off an offer to be seated and came down the aisle towards them. On one hand, he was glad to see Pete on the street because it meant that he was cleared by the board; on the other hand, he wasn't in the right frame of mind to chat with Pete now.

"Have a seat." Woods extended the invitation and slid over in the booth. Pete shook his head and remained standing next to Jerry's side of the booth.

"Thanks, but I can't stay. I just came in for coffee and to let you know that the board cleared me this morning." Both officers congratulated him but, Pete was no dummy; he noticed the look his friend was now trying to hide. "You okay, Partner?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Two people couldn't ride together as long as they did without instantly recognizing the undercurrent of anger in a friend's voice. Pete had hoped to ask Jim about what happened when Jean took David home, but clearly this wasn't the time. "We've got to get going…unless there's something else."

"No, nothing else." When the waitress brought Pete the paper cup of coffee she also laid the bill for Reed and Woods on the table. Pete grabbed it, tossed a ten on the table and left without another word. For once, Woods was quiet.

Pete was back in the wagon and pulling out before Reed and Woods left the restaurant. If he noticed Jim waving his arm in an attempt to get him to stay, Pete didn't acknowledge it before pulling out of the parking lot. He had an idea about what was bothering Jim but this wasn't the time or the place for that discussion. It was bad enough that Woods noticed the tension between the longtime partners. Pete could only hope that Jim would be able to convince Jerry to keep quiet about what he witnessed on the basis that it was a personal issue not a work one.

He was on Comstock when the all cars broadcast came out for a silent alarm at Lincoln Savings Bank; it was on the next corner. Pete put himself out to the scene, requested the swat team and ordered responding units to approach from the west. Fortunately, the bank was mostly empty. Pete saw one armed gunman and two tellers, both behind the counter. If all goes well, they would wait until the gunman left the bank before taking action. When 45 arrived they were waved towards the back of the building. Ed would know to take up a position and stay out of sight. He ordered Reed and Woods to do the same with the front doors. Walters and Fraser were instructed to divert the traffic on Colfax. A glance at his watch told him that SWAT was still thirty minutes away. Two more black and whites showed up; the first pair of officers was told to handle crowd control and the others were sent to evacuate the buildings across the street from the bank.

Two shots rang out and the front door was flung open by a terrified teller screaming for help. Reed moved to pull the woman to safety as another shot rang out, breaking the glass door. From a spot at the corner of the bank, Pete silently told everyone to hold their positions. It was unclear whether the bank robber was aware of their presence; Jim might not have been seen.

"Hey Cop, you alone out there?" That answered that question. Jim had been seen, but apparently no one else, yet. Pete could lie, but what would be the point?

"No, he's not alone. We have the bank surrounded." Pete had moved from the corner of the building to a spot behind a car parked in front of the bank doors. "I suggest you come out unarmed before things get worse for you."

"I ain't alone either cop. This lady here is my ticket out." It never failed to amaze him that gunmen really thought that the police would allow them to leave with a hostage, didn't they watch cop shows? Pete was about to look for Jim when he realized that Reed was already at his side.

"Swat is going to take another thirty minutes to get here. I'm going to try and get him to come closer to the front doors. Go around back and see if you and 45 can get in behind him. There is an alcove by that door that might give you enough cover to get in unnoticed. If we can catch him between us, he might give up. I'll keep him talking." He patted Jim on the shoulder; a silent signal to move. "Go."

"Back off and I won't hurt her." There was nothing wrong with Pete's hearing, but the gunman didn't know that. He'd say anything to stall for enough time for Jim and the other two to get in the bank safely.

"What? I can't hear you. If you want us to negotiate, I have to be able to hear your demands." Pete used hand signals to get Greene to take up the spot Jim left at the bank corner and Walters to come next to him. "Come closer to the front."

"Do you think he's that dumb?" Walters was finding some of this very funny. Pete was chuckling along with him.

"He was dumb enough to try to rob a bank by himself." Pete tried again, hoping Jim was having better luck than he was.

"I ain't coming closer. You can come out and let me see you." It really didn't matter what the robber was saying as long as he kept looking in Pete's direction.

"Shouting at each other won't help. Come closer. I promise no one will shoot you." He intended to keep that promise if he could manage it. Still, he kept his gun aimed at the bank door.

From his spot in front of the bank, Pete saw some movement. They were a little hard to see because of the sun's reflection on the window, but he saw enough of the woman and the man behind her; holding a gun to her head. She was clearly terrified but he didn't seem too sure of what he was doing either.

"Can you hear me now Cop? I got me a hostage, so you let us go. You don't and I shoot her." By Pete's count, the gunman had at least three bullets left in his gun.

"I sure hope you don't do that." Come on Jim….

"You think I ain't gonna shoot her cuz you tell me not to?" The man, who seemed to be in his mid-twenties, was beginning to notice the other officers near Pete.

"No, but you are right about one thing. She's the only thing keeping you alive." Their eyes met across the sidewalk; one over a woman's shoulder and one over a revolver. "Why don't you put the gun down and let the lady go?"

"You put yours down first or I kill her." His threat might have held more weight if his voice wasn't shaky.

"Sorry, I can't…"

"Police, Drop the gun and freeze!" Pete heard, more than saw, the gun dropping to the floor of the bank. Thank You, Jim. Pete and Walters stepped out from behind the car they were using as cover. "Bill, do me a favor and cancel the request for swat. Thanks." Wells and Orlando led the would-be bank robber towards Adam-12 while Jim stopped to talk to Pete.

"Good Job Partner. I'll have Greene and Walters take the statements from the tellers. You can go back to the station and book that guy." A muttered "thanks" was all the response Pete got before Jim and Woods went to the unit.

"Pete? Is everything okay with you and Jim?" Pete didn't mind the question from Walters. Bill was an old friend from the academy. "It may be none of my business, but if I can help, I'd like to." They had walked back towards the wagon; Pete turned and leaned against the car.

"He's mad at me. I think I know why, but we haven't had a chance to talk about it." Pete took his hat off and ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair. "I told him that I was taking the sergeant's exam; said he should consider taking a promotional exam too."

"I don't get it. You should be a sergeant. He had to know that you would be taking it this time. Why is he mad?" Pete sighed rather loudly. There it was again, the assumption that he would shortly be a sergeant. Every time he thought about it, Pete wanted to kick himself for his stupidity.

"I _told_ him. I didn't discuss the possibility with him." Walters stood the agog. Pete and Jim never made a move that important without talking about it.

"You taking the exam is a given, but you didn't _say anything_ to him before signing up for the exam?" Technically, he hadn't yet signed up for the exam.

"Jim should be taking the TO or investigator's exam this time. He won't take one while we are still partners. You know it as well as I do." Pete could see that Bill didn't yet understand.

"What I didn't tell him and what I hope you will keep between us, is that I am not going to be promoted this time. I don't want to hold Jim back."

"Are you sure?" Walters was dumbfounded by Pete's assertion.

"Yeah", Pete responded before walking away to see why Greene was calling him over.


	11. Chapter 11

Bill Walters shook his head as he watched Pete make his way towards Greene, who was speaking to the woman who had been held hostage. His first instinct was to doubt what Pete had said, but his friend spoke with such resignation in his voice that it had to be true. It was definitely what Pete believed; now Walters had to figure out why Pete said it. He didn't know anyone in the division more qualified to be a sergeant. If it wasn't his abilities, what was it?

The teller, a matronly woman in her late fifties, was giving Greene a hard time about the whole thing. Pete couldn't blame her for being upset, but it would be impossible to get a statement from her until she calmed down. Greene had let her sit in the front seat of his black and white, but she exited the unit at his approach.

"Young man, you come here right now. I want to have a word with you." The only thing lacking from the way she spoke to him was the use of all three of his names.

"This is Mrs. Joshua Frank. I'll leave you two alone to talk." Greene took off to speak with Walters, but not before Pete's glare promised that he would pay for it later.

"Mrs. Frank, I am Offi…" Pete didn't get very far.

"Are you the one in charge here? I told that other officer that I wanted to speak to the person who let that man keep me hostage so long." Just like his mother, and his landlady, Mrs. Frank stood around five foot three requiring her to stare up at him.

"Yes Ma'am. I was in charge here. I'm sorry that you had to go through that."

"Don't you coddle me young man, I want to know what you are going to do about it." Unless Pete missed another gunman, he didn't think he needed to do anything more difficult that getting her statement.

"Officers Greene and Walters will take a report from you and detectives will contact you later to interview you in more depth." With his right hand, Pete attempted to call Walters and Greene back to handle this but they were talking to the other teller.

"I don't mean that. What are you going to do about the time he had his gun to my head?" He wasn't sure if she meant what would happen to the robber later or if she wanted something done about how long it took; not that there was any way to fix that.

"He's been arrested and will be charged for not only the attempted robbery but also for holding you hostage. That is kidnapping. There will be a trial." Once again, Pete motioned for Walters and Greene to come back; it was their black and white, not his wagon.

"I know that. Why didn't you stop him sooner?" Pete understood what she was feeling; seconds seem like an eternity when someone holds you at gunpoint. He still had the occasional nightmare about Steve Deal taking him out of the bus to execute him with his own gun.

"Ma'am, I know it seemed like a long time, but we had to do it as safely as possible; not only for you but for the officers involved." There was a sudden change in the way she was looking at him.

"You're that cop, the one who killed that young girl the other day!" Pete sighed, it was bound to happen, but he wasn't sure how that applied to this situation.

"Yes Ma'am. I was involved in that incident. If you will cooperate with Officers Greene and Walters we can get this over with." To Pete, being recognized wasn't a good thing no matter who he was dealing with.

"Don't ignore me. I want to know why you didn't take care of that man." She moved to close the gap between them and poked him in the chest with her index finger. He usually grabbed the hand of anyone who poked him, but instead he took a step back.

"I took care of him. I sent those three officers into the bank through the back door. They rescued you, Ma'am, unharmed." Walters and Greene had come closer, but held back, no doubt to give him privacy or to avoid the woman's wrath; Pete wasn't sure which it was. He took a deep breath and let it out.

"Unharmed? I have bruises on my arm from where he grabbed me. You didn't protect me but you protected yourself, didn't you?" Her voice rose with each syllable. Pete was about to point out that she was alive, so he had protected her when an unsettling thought occurred to him.

"Are you complaining because I didn't shoot that man?" He heard Walters and Greene laugh; not at the woman's apparent complaint but at the completely shocked look on Pete's face. "You wanted me to kill him, with you standing right there?"

"Yes!" She poked him in the chest again. "You killed two people because they threatened you, but you let him keep grabbing me." He couldn't believe that he was being yelled at for not killing someone. Somedays his life made no sense.

"Ma'am, leave aside the fact that they were shooting at me, trying to shoot him would have put you in more danger, not less." Pete looked over her to his fellow officers for some help with this.

"He's right Ma'am. You could have been accidently shot." Walters had joined the conversation; he would have to treat Bill to a beer after watch.

"Not by him. He killed two people by shooting them; he should have done it for me." This woman was really starting to freak them both out.

"No Ma'am, I couldn't." Pete took another calming breath and continued. "I am an expert marksman and I didn't shoot for two reasons. One: because you were too close to him for me to take the chance that he might move and you were killed instead. Two: I don't shoot or kill anyone unless I have no other choice. If that makes you upset with me, I will give you the name of someone to report my conduct to."

"Malloy ran this rescue. He saved your life, Ma'am" Walters spoke up and stepped closer to Mrs. Frank. "If I were being held hostage, he's the one I'd want to be in charge of saving me."

"He really did Ma'am. Malloy's the best." Pete appreciated Greene's comment, misguided as he thought it was. "Let us take your statement. Follow me Ma'am." Flanked by Greene and Walters, Mrs. Frank was led back into the bank to give her statement. As she left, Pete heard her say that she did want the name of someone to report him to.

Eventually, the bank manager, a man to fix the door, SID and detectives arrived. Pete briefed those he needed to and left it all behind. What Mrs. Frank said kept bouncing around in his head. During his career, Pete had been forced to play the sniper; killing on an order. Was that different from what she wanted him to do.? It technically would have been legal to take the shot, but was it right to do before all other options were tried? Mrs. Frank thought so. Sometimes, the line between killer and hero was too damn slim.

Jim parked their unit close to the curb, turned the radio up and he and Woods took a seat at a nearby table. It was too nice a day to waste inside writing reports plus he needed some coffee; Pete's arrival had unintentionally cut their lunch short. Woods was halfway through the report when Jim was approached by a young prostitute who frequented his district. Her street name was "Belle" and she spoke with a Boston accent.

"Reed, can I sit a bit and talk to you?" As many times as he's seen her around, she had never spoken directly to him before. Whatever she wanted was bad enough to make her willing to sit down, in public, with two cops. She eyed Woods cautiously and considered changing her mind.

"Sure. Have a seat." The car hop brought over their coffee and with an arched brow asked if the 'lady' would like anything. For some reason, her attitude bothered both officers, so Jim invited Belle to order something on him. She ordered a coke, but said she would pay for it. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Frank, the bartender where I hang out, says you're okay. Not a slime ball." Jim couldn't keep a straight face and he heard Woods laughing. "I mean, he said you and Malloy play it fair….no hassling us for no reason, right?" Jerry kept his distance; not wanting to scare the girl.

"I'm glad he speaks so highly of us. Are you having problems with an officer?" He didn't want to think that one of the men in his division was pressuring the girl for favors, but it was the logical assumption.

"Oh no, not right now. You know Micki, the one with the long black hair, pink boots?" Jim knew three Micki's but only one that wore pink boots.

"I know who she is, yes. What's wrong? Something is, or you wouldn't come looking for me." The car hop came back with the coke in time to hear the question. It wasn't normal for cops and a prostitute to have a drink together; having a witness might be a good thing.

"She's hurting, real bad. Can you come see her? She's in the alley." Belle grabbed the coke and started towards the alley. Jim paid for the drinks before following her down the alley with the black and white. It made sense to bring it. They didn't suspect a trap, but stranger things had happened.

In this case, it was real. Micki was curled up in the alley and clutching her stomach. Jim asked Woods to stay in the unit and approached the girl, who was lying on a piece of cardboard. Jim went down on one knee to got a better look; the prostitute was sweating and whimpering but didn't seem feverish.

"She's bleeding, kind of..." Belle spoke hesitantly.

"Kind of, can you be more specific?" His gut told him that the prostitute was pregnant, possibly having a miscarriage. "Never mind that. Micki, could you be pregnant?" The only answer he got was a moan, so Jim called to Woods to radio in for an ambulance. While they waited for the ambulance, Micki had grabbed Jim's arm and held on for dear life. "Don't leave me, please."

The attendants were loading her into the back of the ambulance when Pete pulled up to the scene. Jim was about to get in with her when Pete asked him to wait and told Woods to ride in with the woman.

"What was that about?" Jim waited until the ambulance and the small crowd moved away before confronting Pete. "You had no right to order me out of going with her. She trusted me."

"Jerry isn't what I would call threatening." He paused a few seconds before going on. "What does your log say? When you started this shift, how did you divide the duties?"

"I was driving, but…" Pete cut him off before Jim could finish his thought.

"But nothing, you can't lead with your emotions. How many times have I told you that?" It was part of the field sergeant's duties to check on ambulance calls, if possible, but Pete had hoped to take a few minutes to talk to Jim about the exams. He changed his mind when he saw on Jim's face; he was in full over-protective mode.

"Riding in the back of an ambluance is the job of the officer riding shotgun. If you are going to drive, you better get used to the fact that, unless they are putting _you_ in the ambulance, you let your partner ride along with the victim." Being in full T.O. mode was the last place Pete wanted to be. What he really wanted was to be back in Adam-12 with Jim by his side.

"You've ridden with victims while we've been together, haven't you?" When he started Jim intended on putting Pete on the spot, only he couldn't think of a time when Pete had ridden in an ambulance instead of him

"Partner, we need to talk." Pete shook his head, crossed his arms and leaned back against the familiar black and white. Jim walked around Pete, opened the door to the black and white, got in and glared at Pete through the open window.

"My partner just left."

Jim put the unit in reverse and pulled out; only a quick leap forward kept Pete from falling on his ass. He could have called Jim back, but what was the point? He knew where Reed was going, if he wanted to follow. Central Receiving's waiting room wasn't the place for the talk they needed to have. Once again, Pete wanted to kick himself for being stupid enough to let that child molester get to him. This tension between him and Reed was his own fault. He knew that Jim had considered taking a promotion after his fourth year, but didn't because he wanted to stay partners with Pete. It was one of the reasons he didn't discuss the tests with Jim before telling him to "not wait on him". He knew that because Jean had told him.

She had come to visit him in the hospital after he was shot in the narco raid. He had been there over three weeks and was ready to go over the wall. She brought him a decent cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie. They were having a pleasant chat when he made the mistake of saying that he couldn't wait to get back to work. Jean went off on Pete like his father did once; after he came home drunk and threw up on his Dad's shoes.

Wasn't being hurt and almost dying three times enough? How could he risk putting Judy in this position again? Didn't he know that Jim was still on the street because of him? She had stormed out of the room, but he risked her anger by bringing it up again after he got out of the hospital. He needed to know what she meant.

End of Watch came and went while Pete was giving a field sobriety test to a middle aged man who had hit four parked cars; two on each side of the road. It took a couple of tries, but Pete finally got the full story. A cat ran into the road, so he swerved to avoid it causing him to hit a car on the right with the front passenger side of the car. In a reflective move, he pulled the car quickly to the left knocking the back passenger side of the car into a second car parked on the right. With his foot still on the gas, he hit a third car parked on the left side of the street with his car's front end on the driver's side. In an attempt to get back on the right side of the road he jerked hard on the steering wheel and hit a second car of the left with the back end of his car. He failed the test.

By the time Pete got back to the station, Jim had already gone home.

 **A/N: I have always wanted to put that story about the four parked cars in something I've written. The car with all four corners smashed belonged to my Grandfather. He wasn't the one driving it at the time; nor was I.**


	12. Chapter 12

It was ten minutes to five when Pete finally got back to the station. A quick look around the parking lot told him what he most wanted to know; Jim wasn't there anymore. He'll say this for his friend; he did know how to put a burr under Pete's saddle. He checked his watch for the twentieth time trying to find time to for over to Reed's house and be honest with him about all this promotion mess, but he had an hour's worth of work to do and then basketball practice.

Pete decided to work on his reports in the breakroom. The PM watch team of officers who transported the 502 would be handling the actual booking. Ordinarily, the breakroom wouldn't be crowded at this time of day and it was empty with the exception of Wells. Pete looked heavenward and muttered something under his breath before heading for the coffee. He was about to say hello to Wells, when Ed rose from his seat and moved towards the door on the far side of the room.

"Ed, don't leave. Let me buy you a cup of coffee." It wouldn't do any good if the two of them couldn't come to some kind of civility.

"Forget it Malloy. I've had enough of you today, thank you!" He'd seen rabid dogs calmer than Wells was and Pete had no idea what he supposedly did.

"What are you talking about? I barely saw you today." This was turning into one of the weirdest days he's had in a while: the board, Mrs. Frank, Reed and now this.

"Ha-ha, like you don't know. Big joke on Ed, why not?" Wells was accentuating his tone by waving his hat around.

"What the heck are you talking about?" Pete shook his head slightly and stared wide-eyed at Well. The man was making no sense to Pete.

"Orlando, that's what. You and Mac must have been laughing your tails off about him." Pete was really trying to follow this, but he didn't understand. He and Mac had discussed pairing Ed with the new transfer; thinking that it might be easier for Wells to work his way back into the shift.

"Ed, please sit down. I really don't understand." He spoke softly and calmly then filled two mugs with coffee before taking a seat at a nearby table. His demeanor was harmless enough to make Ed willing to listen. "We paired you with Orlando because he wasn't involved in what happened last month."

"Yeah, right, the man practically drools over you and you assigned him to me to make it easier for me."

"Drools?" There were a whole lot of things that drooling could be applied too; none of which had any connotation that could be considered good in the context of work. Ed just passed Mrs. Frank as the strangest person he'd spoken to since he woke-up this morning. Pete sat at the table, an elbow resting on the top and using two fingers, rubbed his forehead. "Speak English….Please."

"Eight hours! All I've been hearing is how great a cop you are." He held up his index finger and shoved it under Pete's nose. It was tempting, but Pete refrained from grabbing Ed's finger and bending it backwards. What was it about people poking a finger at him today?

"I don't even know him. Why would he talk about me?" He spoke with such sincerity that Ed pulled his fingers back and took a seat. "I don't think he was even in any of the training sessions we worked on at the Academy."

"Are you saying that you and Janney didn't set this whole thing up?" While, Janney and Wells got along together about as much as a NY Giants fan and a Dallas Cowboy fan did, Janney had transferred at least seven years ago. Pete wasn't even sure what station Wilber worked at now.

"Wait. Were Orlando and Janney partners before he came here?" Pete had actually been glad to see Janney transfer out. He was a good cop but he thought Pete saved his life and had developed a bad case of hero worship; something that made Pete extremely uncomfortable.

"That's what I've been saying. Use your ears, Malloy." Pete took a deep breath and let it out.

"Sorry Ed. I didn't know, but I will ask Mac to assign Orlando to someone else. Will that make us square?" Pete found himself saying a silent prayer that Ed wouldn't bring up last month. He had taken it personally when Pete removed him as a training officer, but a month off should have made him realize that the only issue had been his own work performance and mistakes.

"It's a start."

Ed downed the coffee and left Pete alone to fill out the rest of his paperwork in relative peace. The only interruption came from his stomach, which was loudly proclaiming its lack of anything to digest. He hated eating anything from the food machine, but he chose the, hopefully not spoiled, beef stew. At 6:15, Pete went into the watch commander's office and dropped a pile of reports on Mac's already large pile. "Do me a favor and pair Orlando with someone other than Ed. I'll explain tomorrow." He almost escaped when Mac called him back.

"Get back here, I want to talk to you." He was laughing so it probably wasn't something bad, but the way today was going, it probably was. "First, you did a great job on that Code 30 at the bank."

"Please, the guy was a moron. A rookie could have handled that call." He shook his head and chuckled. "There was nothing to it."

"We did get a complaint from that teller, Mrs. Frank, so IAD will be looking at it." Even though Pete thought he groaned softly, Mac heard it and laughed. "Powers interviewed the woman and pronounced her "Nutty as a squirrel's nest."

"I hope you won't be disappointed if I do worry about it. She can make a lot of fuss." Pete peeked in his mailbox, but didn't see anything he needed to deal with right away. 'If that's all, I have to get going. I don't want to be late for basketball practice."

"I was going to ask you to work some overtime, but I want to see you win that Championship again." Mac and his son, Billy, came to every game they could to cheer on the team. He picked up a small envelope on his desk and handed it to Pete. "This was dropped off for you by a messenger. He wouldn't tell Culver who sent it to you."

Inside the envelope was an index card with a neatly typed message:

 _September 17_ _th_ _, 10am. I'll remember._

Pete sighed and showed the card to Mac. If he threw it out, MacDonald would have retrieved it from the garbage can and if he put it in his pocket, Mac would still ask questions. He had found several notes, similar to that one, over the last month; all of them alluding to a parole hearing that Pete had refused to go to.

"It's a threat from Tony Johnson." Pete had ignored the earlier messages, all of which had been sent to his apartment. Tony must be stepping up his game to contact him here. It was time to fill Mac in on the situation. Pete shared the bare minimum necessary to get off work.

"Are you worried that he's going to do something?" The concern he saw in Mac's eyes made Pete smile.

"No. He's trying to rattle me. If Tony wants revenge on me, he'll wait until he can do it himself." Pete thought he was safe; at least until Tony got out of prison. "Good night, Mac."

"Wait one more thing. Did Walters say anything to you about not taking the sergeant's exam? He came in after watch and asked me to take his name off the list."

"Sorry Mac. He didn't tell me anything about the exam. I didn't know he was signed up to take it." Pete had an idea why Jerry had changed his mind, but he would talk to him. For now, he wasn't actually lying to Mac; he had answered the question.

He made it to the Community Center with seven minutes to spare. Along with the regular members of the team, Pete had expected to see Eli there. It was part of his bargain with Allison and the juvenile court. He wasn't officially on the team yet, but he was allowed to practice with the boys. David's presence, however, was a surprise. Pete was about to ask him what he was doing there, when David handed him a note.

 _Pete,_

 _Thank you for making sure my son got home safely. Jean made me realize that our problems don't apply to David. Please bring him home after practice._

 _Judy._

Now Pete had another reason to stop at the Reed's house after practice. He didn't know what Jean said to Judy, but he was in her debt. The older boys readily absorbed the two younger ones into the gang. This program was supposed to benefit the boys, but Pete got great satisfaction from working with the mostly at risk teens. Afterwards, Pete dropped David home and made a short stop before driving to Reed's house. If the house was dark, he would wait until tomorrow, but lights in the living room and kitchen let him know that at least two of the Reeds were still awake. Pete had been hoping to see all three.

The front door opened before Pete had a chance to knock; Jim had noticed his approach and was taking almost a defensive stance in the doorframe. He arched a brow when Pete lifted his right hand, revealing a bouquet of White Carnations and Baby's Breath.

"Is that supposed to make me let you in? It's a lousy bribe."

"They are for your wife idiot. It I wanted to bribe you I'd have brought a three foot long sub sandwich and a chocolate milk shake." Pete took a step closer to the door, expecting Jim to move aside but a tad surprised that he did. Jean came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth.

"Pete! I thought I heard voices out here." He nodded to Jean and offered her the flowers; he always thought that Jean had a beautiful smile. She held the flowers up to her nose, inhaling the scent.

"I wanted to get you something to say Thank you. Judy dropped David off at basketball practice tonight." He smiled, watching Jean twirl in delight before heading off to put the flowers in water.

"If that's all you wanted, the door is behind you." Reed held out his right hand, pointing at the door. "Jimmy's asleep. Good night." Jim's tone of voice hadn't improved since that snide remark he made before pulling the unit out from under his friend. Not that Pete expected it to; he deserved it.

"Can I please explain why I did what I did?" He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. It certainly got Jim's attention but he wasn't willing to get rid of the anger yet; below it was the pain he was trying to fight.

"Motivated self-interest? All you had to do was say that you didn't want to be partners anymore." Jim was almost spitting out the accusations. "Did you even bother giving a thought to consider what I wanted?"

"Do you really believe that I didn't consider you and your career?" Pete couldn't stand still; he thought better when he moved. He did notice that Jean had slipped past Jim, without him seeing. She had gone into the bedroom in order to give the partners privacy.

"Yes, I do! You didn't ask me if I was ready to take a promotion." Jim didn't pace, but his blue eyes flashed and his hands were clenched in fists.

"You are ready, damn it. Why didn't you take the exam once you became eligible to become a TO?" Pete was actually pacing around Jim; the living room wasn't big enough for there to be too much distance between the friends. "The truth, you owe me that."

"Do I really have to spell it out for you?" He unclenched a fist; holding out the hand to make Pete stop pacing. He was making Jim dizzy. His thoughts went to how much he did owe Pete. It's said at the Academy that a probationer would owe his life to his training officer so often that the rookie would never be able to even the score. Truth was the least he owed Pete.

"As stupid as it sounds, I didn't want to stop being your partner. Is that what you wanted to hear?" While Jim readied himself to admit that, Pete took a seat on the arm of the couch.

"Yes. That's what I wanted to hear you admit." Pete ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair; a move Jim knew meant that Pete was gathering his thoughts. So he waited. "I'm sure you know that over the last few years, I've been getting pressured to take the sergeant's exam. Our partnership has been the main reason I haven't done it before now."

Jim nodded. He had unclenched his other fist, but he wasn't ready to let down his guard; it hurt less to cling onto anger. He crossed his arms and stood in front of Pete.

"This year Mac has been putting on the full court press. I don't have a choice about signing up for the exam. You do. I wanted to give you time to decide for yourself before we talked about it."

"You couldn't have told me that the other day? Instead you leave me thinking that you want to break up the partnership. Why?" Everyone was sure that Pete was taking the exam this time. To Jim, whatever pressure Pete was getting didn't excuse his behavior.

"Have you decided if you are going to take the training officer or the Investigator's exam?" Now it was Pete's turn to cross his arms, lean back and stare at Jim.

"Yeah, training officer, I figure if you could pass it, I shouldn't have any problem with it." He paused, waiting to see how Pete reacted to that backhand shot, before continuing. "You haven't answered my question. Why didn't you discuss this with me first?"

"I know." He decided to let Jim figure out if that was the answer to one or both of his questions. "Now, tell me this: If I said to you that I was taking the exam, but that it was a lock that I would not be promoted this time, no matter how well I do on the written exam, would you have decided to take the TO exam this time?"

"What the hell are you talking about? Everyone knows that you will be promoted." Good old Jim, he was loyal, but this time his loyalty was misplaced.

"No, I won't and I'll have to transfer out if that becomes a problem with the new sergeants." Bitterness, it wasn't often that Jim heard it in Pete's voice; it scared him.

"I don't understand. Why wouldn't you be promoted?" Pete would have laughed at Jim's inability to figure out the obvious, it if was about anything but this.

"Excessive Force and Conduct Unbecoming a Police Officer." That's all Pete said before standing up and opening the front door. He wasn't going to leave, but there was the tightness in his chest; he needed air. Pete would have assumed that he stunned Jim into silence if he hadn't heard Jim curse under his breath.

"Are you sure?" Pete was staring at squirrel scurrying across the front lawn; anything to not face Jim just yet. He heard a growing indignation and the instinct to come to a friend's defense in Jim's voice. "That's not fair to you. It was five minutes over how many years?"

"Positive, fair or not. Take the test Jim. You deserve a promotion." Jim heard the dejection and resignation in his friend's voice. He wanted to offer a denial; argue with Pete, but his friend left before Jim could gather his thoughts. By the time Pete reached his car Jim was close behind. Pete did finally look up and meet Jim eye to eye and the depression Jim saw in Pete's eyes was so profound that he couldn't think of one thing to say to make Pete feel better.

Pete drove around for over an hour, mostly in an attempt to not think about anything more than the jazz music coming from his radio. Pete's attitude was more one of resignation than despair when he finally arrived at his apartment. It was after 11 when the phone rang. No one calls after 11 with good news; especially not his mother…


	13. Chapter 13

Pete's sense of duty made him answer the late night phone call; his sense of self-preservation made him want to hang up when he found his mother on the other end of the line. His parents still lived on the farm that Pete had grown up on. They rose at dawn and were usually in bed by eight. If they were calling him after eleven p.m., this conversation was not going to be good. When his father's brother died, his mother went to bed at her regular time and called him the next day; his father would have sent him a note in the mail.

"Peter? Is what your father and I saw on the news true?" When he was a teenager, his answer would have been: I've got better things to do than watch the news. This time, he was almost positive that she was calling him about the shoot-out the other night.

"Possibly Mom, I haven't watched the news in the last few days." It was a marginally better response. As much as he wanted to avoid discussing it, his mother was the source of his own stubbornness. He might as well get it over now.

"Why not? It's all about you." Even the news in LA wasn't all about him, although it was possible that the shooting had been news up there because there was a local angle. He sincerely hoped that the Seattle paper didn't have the headline "Local Boy Kills Two in LA", in 24 point bold lettering, above his official department picture.

"Somehow, I doubt that, but for the sake of expediency, what are you talking about?" The headache he had shaken earlier was rapidly returning. Pete was looking for some aspirin as he talked, but his range was limited by the length of the phone cord so he settled for a shot glass of whiskey. It couldn't hurt.

"Don't take that tone with me. Hold on." Pete sipped the whiskey as he listened to his parents arguing about whether or not his father needed to get on the extension. For a former Army drill sergeant, his father tended to be rather taciturn. Eventually, his mother got back on the line.

"Your father says 'good night'" Good old Dad, he spent four years in the Army; he understood the things that duty sometimes required. His mother, however, was a staunch Catholic. "Did you kill a young woman three days ago?" Maybe it was good that she was being direct; it might cut down on the length of the call.

"I killed two people, in self-defense, three days ago. Yes, one of them was a woman." It didn't occur to him to try and wiggle his way out of this. She would have her say.

"Are you proud of yourself? Have you gone to Confession yet?" Pete thought his mother was missing the main point.

"Am I proud that they are dead instead of me? Mom, they were shooting at me." He had the sudden urge to shake some sense into her. "Be glad I'm still alive so you can yell at me."

"I am, but I don't understand how you can kill someone. You were such a gentle boy." His mother suffered from selective memory; she chose to ignore the fact that he was frequently in fights while growing up. Some were fought for noble reasons and the others….not so much.

"Mom, it's not like I enjoy doing it. They didn't give me a choice." Pete was not about to give her a detailed description of his reaction to killing another person; he was too old to seek comfort from his mother and his conscience was his own business. "What do you think Dad was doing when he was in the Army? He didn't start out training others to kill."

"I'm sure that your father never _killed a girl_." She said "girl" like he had killed an innocent child instead of a violent grown woman.

"Are you yelling at me for killing anyone or just for killing a woman? I'd appreciate if you would clarify things, because I'm getting the feeling that you think I killed a child." Pete was trying to keep his temper, but his mother knew which buttons to push.

"I know she wasn't a child, but killing someone is a mortal sin. I don't know why you keep committing it." So this wasn't about one woman, this was about his career.

"Mom, killing in self-defense isn't a venial sin much less a mortal one." Pete took a deep breath and pushed forward. "Are you accusing me of killing someone out of carelessness or habit?"

"You insist on staying with a job that requires you to kill a lot of people. I have never understood why." He waited for the inevitable next line; they had had versions of this discussion since he told her about his decision to join the force. "If you couldn't be a priest, why not join a small town force? They are much safer than LA." The sound in her pause told him that there was more to come. "You could avoid the near occasion of sin." Great, now she was quoting from the Act of Contrition; Pete rolled his eyes.

"People have guns in other parts of the country too." He took another sip of the whisky. "Now, define 'a lot' for me." His mother's dream that he would become a priest never meshed well with her desire to be a grandmother. Unless his parents were miraculously expecting another child, Pete was their only option for grandchildren.

"You tell me how many people you have killed and I will tell you if it's too many." There was no way on Earth that he would answer that question; he didn't feel that she had the right to ask.

"That's between me and God. It was his idea that I become a policeman." Pete had always possessed a very protective nature and the sure knowledge that his life would eventually be one of service to others. It was that knowledge that caused him to be ringleader and mischief maker as a kid; he had to get it out of his system, or so he told himself. Once, while serving as an altar boy, he considered the priesthood, but he realized there were some sacrifices he wasn't willing to make.

"Well, um…if you are talking to Him…" His mother's voice was fading as she considered what he said; had he really gotten the better of her this time? "What about your love life? Do you have a new girlfriend yet?"

"Huh?" His mother was going to break her neck one day, changing direction that fast. For an instant, he considered bringing her back to the original topic but decided that a possible girlfriend was a safer subject.

"I'm _starting_ to see someone. I'll let you know if it comes to anything." He opened the whisky bottle and poured another shot; his headache had settled behind his eyes. "I'm going to bed Mom. Good night."

"Wait! At least tell me her name." Pete knew he shouldn't have said anything about a woman. He downed the whiskey before answering her..

"Sally. Good Night, Mom." He meant to hang up as soon as he said good night, but he and the ear piece were an entire ten foot curly wire away from the base of the phone. That meant that he did hear his mother's final words; "Please Peter, go to Confession before it's too late." He wasn't sure if she wanted him to confess before he died or if she meant that he couldn't keep being forgiven for committing the same sin. The problem was, he didn't consider what he did a sin.

Exhaustion, helped along by whiskey, allowed Pete to fall asleep soon after he climbed into bed. While he didn't have a nightmare, his dreams were filled with disjoined images: the stern face of an old priest, his mother pleading for his soul, a dark angel leading him towards the flames of Hell and the words to the Act of Contrition repeating over and over.

He was lingering in the shower, when he heard the doorbell. During the time it took to shut off the water and wrap a towel around his waist, the bell rang three more times. Pete was almost to the door when it was opened by Jim.

"Partner, I'm going to take those keys away from you if you keep letting yourself in." Since he was dripping on the rug, Pete took the towel he had hung around his neck and started rubbing his hair dry. "Are you going to explain your barging into my home?" He looked up when Jim didn't answer; then he noticed why. Jim was staring at the long, wide scar on his chest. Since being shot, Pete tried to keep anyone from seeing that scar, even Jim. He put the towel back around his neck, letting one end hang low enough to recover the scar. "Jim….I'm going to literally kick you out unless you start talking."

"You would throw out the man who brings you breakfast." Anyone who didn't know Jim well would not notice his reaction to being caught staring; Jim's ears were bright red. He held up a brown paper bag filled with something.

"I don't smell any breakfast. No coffee, no donuts. What do you have in that bag?" Pete turned to go back down the hall to get dressed.

"Corn Flakes and chocolate milk." Pete spun back around and stared at wide-eyed at Jim. Surely he'd lost his mind. Jim had the silliest grin on his face as he pulled the half gallon of chocolate milk from the bag.

"That sounds disgusting! You have got to be kidding." Pete disappeared into his room to get dressed.

"Jimmy loves it." Jim had stayed in the living room, but continued his defense of the proffered breakfast. "It's a great kick of energy."

Pete, now wearing a white undershirt and a pair of brown corduroy pants, leaned into the doorway. "Jimmy is four. He needs a sugar high even less than I do." Pulling back into his room, Pete finished getting dressed and came down the hall holding his shoes. "Admit it. You brought that stuff here knowing that I would insist on going out for a proper breakfast. Worse, you are going to expect me to pay for it. Right?"

"Well, now that you mention it…" Pete knew fishing when he saw it, but his stomach was growling and he had no intention of eating corn flakes with chocolate milk.

"Come on, Tom Sawyer. The offer to pay expires in 30 seconds." Pete, who had already put on his shoes, grabbed a jacket from the coat rack and headed out the door. The slamming sound behind him told Pete all he needed to know; Jim was following.

They ate breakfast at a nearby coffee shop; talking about anything but work. Neither one wanted to finish their conversation of the day before. Over a second cup Jim finally broached the subject.

"Are you sure?" Pete paused before answering; staring at his friend over the rim of his mug. After a few seconds he nodded. He didn't have to ask what Jim was talking about. "What are we going to do?"

"We." Pete smiled at the word; they'd been 'we' for many years. "We are both going to take the exams and do our best. The rest is out of our hands." He had held back his own career too long; he wasn't going to encourage Jim to do the same. Pete pulled out his wallet and dropped enough money to cover the bill and the tip. "We're going to be late. Let's go."

"Now, I know there's a guy in there holding a woman hostage, but that's not gonna stop me, right? So I said to my partner to get another guy to help us." Pete and Jim exchanged knowing glances; Wells was holding court. "That bank was an old post office and I know it's got a back door that's hidden. So, I lead the thr…." Ed's voice trailed off when he saw Pete and Jim entering the locker room.

"Don't let us stop you." Pete shook his head and chuckled. "It was just getting good." What did he care if Ed took all the credit? The partners continued on to their lockers; getting into their uniforms while Wells resumed his version of the bank rescue.


	14. Chapter 14

After rollcall, Pete asked Jim to pick up the shotgun and run the check on the car by himself; saying that he had to talk to Mac about some training issues. He didn't want to worry Jim needlessly. Pete had followed Mac to the watch commander's office, closing the door behind him. MacDonald's left eyebrow rose as Pete pulled a folded index card from his pants pocket and laid it on the desk directly in front of the sergeant.

"What's this?" Even as he asked Pete about it, Mac was unfolding it and reading the typed message.

" _Friends first. Old buddy."_

"Is this another message from Johnson?" Pete couldn't help but chuckle at Mac's expression and his tone of voice. He held the index card the same way someone, forced to clean it up, holds a bag containing their dog's droppings.

"I assume so. I found it under the windshield wiper of my car." Pete grabbed one of the chairs by the wall, turning it backwards before sitting down; his arms crossed over the top of the chair back. "The thing is, it wasn't there this morning before Jim and I went for breakfast, but it was there when I got back."

"How long were you gone? Did you ask if anyone saw someone by your car?" As he spoke, Mac ran his finger down a list of the units available, if needed.

"Forty-five minutes? I didn't have time to ask around, besides, Mrs. O'Brian offered to see if anyone saw someone near my car." Over a year later, Mac still shuddered at the mention of Pete's landlord, who threw the station into turmoil over a stolen purse. Many times since, he has asked Pete why he stayed there. "She'll call you if she finds someone." Mac groaned in response.

"I don't understand this message. He can't still consider you a friend, could he?" Sitting face to face, across the desk, Pete saw the worry in his friend's eyes.

"I told him the day we _found_ ginger that our friendship was destroyed. If he had any hope that I would change my mind and be his friend again, he shouldn't now that I refused to help him with the parole board." Pete reached out to take the index card back, but Macdonald moved it out of reach. "I think it is more a threat, but I'm not sure who he is threatening."

"This isn't the first threat against you, is it?" Mac partially rose from his chair and moved forward to loom over Pete. The accusation was clear.

"Relax Mac. I told you exactly what every message I got said. None of them were an outright threat." Pete ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair and stood up. He thought better on his feet. "This note seems different. The thing is, I don't think the threat is to me."

"By friend, you think he means….", Mac let his voice trail off as he started to follow Pete's train of thought.

"You, Jim or anyone else I call friend, yeah." Pete used what little room there was in the office to pace. "I don't think anyone, not even me, is in any danger…yet."

"How so? If these notes are not trying to get you to help him, why aren't you in danger?" Mac reached into the top drawer of his desk, pulling out the note that came to the station and comparing it to the new one.

"I know Tony. He took my turning him in as a betrayal of our friendship; said I owed it to him to keep quiet." He paused to fill a small cup with water from the cooler and took a sip. "This is personal. If he wants revenge, he won't send anyone else to confront me. I think these notes are meant to unnerve me."

"That doesn't answer my question. Why aren't you in danger, now?" Pete half-smiled; Mac was more worried about Pete than he was about his own life.

"Tony got turned down for parole. He's in prison for another year and a half. I'll worry then." That was one thing Pete was positive about; if Tony wanted him dead, he would do it himself. "I don't want anyone besides the Captain to know about these notes. I have enough to worry about now to fret over an event that _might_ happen in 20 months."

"Not even Jim?"

"Especially, not Jim. I have to get out on patrol." Pete was making his way to the door. "Oh, I'll talk to Walters later and find out what that is about." He wondered how he was supposed to convince his friend to take a promotion over him.

Jim was not happy when Pete finally arrived at the car. Pete expected that, what he didn't expect was Jim sitting in the driver's seat. The question was; did Pete feel guilty enough to let Reed drive? Not really. He walked to the driver's side and waved his hand towards the passenger side.

"Move over Mooch. You already got breakfast out of me. I only make one concession a day." Jim looked up into a face of contrasts: Pete was smiling, but his eyes said 'move now'. Jim considered pushing the point, but something about the steel he saw in Pete's eyes made him slide over as directed. He took up the log book and cleared them for day watch.

"Is everything alright?" Jim's question caught Pete off-guard. He looked to his right and nodded a yes to Jim's question. "Then why are you fiddling with your hat?" Pete hadn't realized that his right hand was indeed resting on his hat or that he was tapping his fingers on the brim. He'd have to work hard not to do that again.

"Mac wants me to talk to Walters." Pete paused, hoping that would be enough; at the same time knowing that Jim wouldn't let him off that easily. "He had Mac take his name off the sign-up list for the Sergeant's exam." Pete was saved from Jim's next question by the radio.

"1 Adam-12, 1 Adam-12, TA Grand Ave. and E. 7th St. Pole down. Handle, code 2."

This was one of the few times that Pete was happy to get a call about a traffic light down, until he saw how backed up the traffic was. Not only were cars stopped in the lanes, the shoulder on 7th was backed up with cars trying to get around the traffic. "Why couldn't they send a motor officer?" It was a rhetorical question and Jim, uncharacteristically; ignored it. Pete turned on the reds and drove down the oncoming traffic lane. There were a few cars in the lane, but they moved out of his way. Once they got close enough to see the problem, Jim radioed for at least one back-up unit.

There was a produce truck on its side in the middle of the the downed light pole was resting on the cab. The intersection was filled with people gathering up the watermelons that had spilled out of the truck. One person was standing in the middle of the free-for-all yelling at people to stop stealing the melons. Not surprisingly, no one was paying attention. Watermelons were disappearing into cars and being rolled around corners, kids were breaking them up and eating the pieces; Pete counted at least three women putting them into strollers. Chuckling, Pete asked Jim if he wanted to handle the traffic, the yelling man or the wholesale petty theft going on.

Three hours later, the public works foreman assured Pete that it wouldn't take much longer for the signal light to be working. With the truck towed away and most of the watermelons gone, Pete had sent away one of the back-up units. At present, Fraser and Reed were handling the traffic well enough for Pete to motion to Walters; calling him over to Adam-12. Pete leaned back against the hood of the car, waiting for Walters to settle against the back of his own unit.

"Mac asked me about you." Pete kept his eyes on his old friend, waiting to see if he would come forth with some information. When Walters stayed silent, Pete went on. "Why did you take your name off the exam sign-up sheet?"

"You are more qualified for a promotion than I am." Walters had been in the class before Pete at the Academy, but they had formed a lasting friendship back then. He relied on Walters' skill as a training officer; he was, in Pete's opinion, the best one he had.

"Nonsense, you're a damn good cop and you've put in your time on the streets. Experience is what matters most." Pete desperately wanted Walters to be promoted; ideally, both of them would have made sergeant. "The paperwork and additional regulations you haven't been exposed to can be easily learned."

"You already know the job." Walters crossed his arms over his chest; defying Pete to deny it.

"And I am taking the exam." Pete couldn't bring himself to voice his thoughts about his situation; he created it and he was never a whiner. "You need to take it too, so that someone in this division will take over at least one of the two open sergeant spots." Walters shifted in position, starting and stopping a few times as if he was trying to decide how to say something. "That spot belongs to you." Pete sighed, ignoring the urge to slam a fist down on the hood of the car. He swore to himself that he would never lose emotional control again. "I don't care what you did to that scumbag; you earned that promotion."

"Then I forfeited it the second I lost my temper." He wasn't surprised that Walters had figured out what Pete meant yesterday, but he couldn't let that change Bill's decision. "You have to take that exam and get that promotion. God knows we don't want Ed Wells making sergeant."

"I don't want to be promoted over you, alright?" Walter's turned to leave, but his attempt to get past Pete was stopped by a hand on his upper arm.

"Take the test. Consider it an order…while I can still give you one." It was Pete who ended up doing the walking away; leaving Walters to stare at his back.

Twenty minutes later the partners were back in their black and white, leaving the accident scene behind. Jim's attempt at clearing them might have been more effective if he didn't hiccup in the middle of it. The next two tries weren't any more successful. It was almost as if Pete's laughter increased the frequency of his partner's hiccups. With a shake of his head, Pete took the microphone from Jim's hand.

"1 Adam-12 clear". Just for old time sake, Pete made a big production of returning the mic to Reed's hand. After dispatch acknowledged their call in, Pete grinned at the still hiccupping Jim; speaking to him as one would a small child. "1 Adam-12, roger." A blush rose in Jim's face as he acknowledged the radio.

"Don't look now Partner, but your ears are bright red; second time today." Sometimes teasing Jim was just too easy but something was wrong; Jim went quiet. Pete had hit a nerve, although he couldn't figure out what. In all their years riding together, Pete frequently teased his younger partner. "Jim?"

"Does it…er…still hurt?" He spoke haltingly, unsure if he had the right to ask. For his own part, Pete had no doubt what Jim meant. In all the time he knew Jim, he had never lied to him; now was not the time to start.

"Sometimes, especially if I over-do it. Dampness doesn't help it either." Pete hadn't turned to look before he spoke but he did watch his partner's reflection in the side window. He knew it was coming and wanted to head it off. "Don't say it. Between Williams, you and Mac, I've heard it enough times." After he was shot, all three men had tried to take the blame: Williams for calling in sick, which meant that Mac had to cover as watch commander, which resulted in MacDonald roping Pete into working overtime to cover the narco raid that was based on Jim's information. Pete blamed himself.


	15. Chapter 15

"And before you ask, yes, the doctor knows that it occasionally hurts; it's normal." He said a silent prayer that Jim wouldn't make a federal case out of a little pain. Those weeks in the hospital and the months of recovery were hard on Pete. As a kid he rebelled from the over protectiveness his mother showered on her only son. He never did like having people hovering around him. It was an independent streak that drove away more than one girlfriend. Some of his happiest memories of childhood involved being alone and hiding in the branches of a very large apple tree, eating his way through the pages of books his grandfather hid up there for him: Jules Verne, Mark Twain, H. ….

"Pete? Hey Partner." Jim was jostling Pete's shoulder; trying to get his attention. Pete coughed and shifted the car into gear. It was a good thing there were no cars stopped behind them when the red light turned green. "Are you okay? You looked like you were a million miles away."

"Only about 12 hundred miles and twenty-five years from here." This caught Jim's attention as Pete rarely talked about his childhood. On their first night riding together, Jim learned that Pete was from Seattle, but it wasn't until a year later that he found out that Pete had grown up on a farm. He had assumed that, like him, Pete was from a large city.

"How did we go from pain in your chest to when you were a kid?" Reed was used to having Pete's experience leading him to think faster than Jim, but he usually got to the same place eventually; this jump made no sense.

"Hiding." The look on Jim's face was priceless; he clearly thought that Pete had lost his mind. He considered leaving Jim wondering, but he had no doubt that tomorrow Mac would be asking about his sanity. "You stared at my scar this morning because you never saw it before. There's a reason for that." Pete paused while he made a left turn onto Galena. "I'd rather people forget it ever happened." Knowing how private Pete can be, that explanation made perfect sense to Jim

"1 Adam-12, 1 Adam-12, back-up 1 Mary 14, 12967 Ventura Blvd, Code 2"

"Back-up" consisted of transporting one prisoner with a bloody nose to Central Receiving. So far, it was a very quiet shift. The two were leading the prisoner up to the nurses' desk when Sally grabbed one of the student nurses, introduced her to Jim and sent the two of them and the prisoner to an exam room. Before the door closed, Jim looked back to see Pete and Sally heading for a different exam room, her hand resting on Pete's left bicep.

By the time Jim came back with the prisoner, Pete was sitting in the waiting room finishing up the report on the traffic accident. He had hoped to grab lunch before going back to work, but that was shot when the prisoner wasn't admitted. Jim waited until they were out the door before asking what was going on in the other exam room. Pete's only response was "not in front of the prisoner". They took lunch at the station and Pete dodged all of Jim's questions. Sometimes, it was fun to hold out on information. Pete knew that Jim would likely be annoyed to find out that what went on was, mostly, Sally asking for a ride home after her shift.

They were walking past the bulletin board when Jim stopped, reaching out to snag an envelope that was tacked up on the board. Pete, who knew at once what was in the envelope, took it from Jim, folded it and stuffed it into his pocket. He knew that reading it would only cause more trouble; the envelope hidden from view, Pete picked up the pace towards the door and salvation.

"Whoa. Aren't you going to read it?" Jim was forced to jog a little to catch up to his fleeing partner. What neither Jim nor Pete knew was that MacDonald, exiting the breakroom, caught the tail end of the scene in the hall. He too, wanted to know what Pete wasn't reading. A very loud "Ahem" stopped both officers in their tracks; together they turned to face the dragon in the hall.

"Give it over Pete." Mac's voice had taken on that quality that was used to scare rookies. He rarely used it around these two, but when he did, they had no choice. Pete took the folded envelope out of his pocket and gave it to Mac. "Where did this come from?" He could tell by the typed address that it was most likely a message from Tony.

"I don't know. It was tacked on the board." Pete's eyes met Mac's and the silent communication between them was that of old friends; partners. He understood the plea in Pete's eyes and did what he would want Pete to do for him.

"I'll check it out. Whatever it is, they shouldn't post it on the board." He paused to look between the partners. "I'm assuming that you don't think its job related or urgent?" Pete shook his head, a silent thank you sent; he led Jim out to the unit. Pete was grateful that Mac had given him the chance to explain the notes on his own.

"I've been getting messages that seem to be from Tony Johnson." Jim was understandingly upset that Pete hadn't told him after the first note came. He jumped to the conclusion that Pete hadn't at first grasped; Pete thought they were meant to rattle him and weren't really threats. Jim took the more direct route; he was sure they were threats and he intended to protect his partner. "Jim, unless that one Mac has is a direct threat, all I have are notes from a guy who will be in prison for another year and a half." Jim got into the unit after Pete did, although he gave Pete the silent treatment, even after Pete apologized again.

"1 Adam-12, 1 Adam-12, code 30, Westside Shipping, 78 West Front Street, 1 Adam-12 handle Code 2."

The partners were familiar with the warehouse. It was large, dark and filled with spaces for suspects to hide. At Pete's order, Jim requested a back-up unit to assist them. The partners exchanged worried glances when dispatch notified them that no back-up was available. Pete parked the unit at the southwest corner of the warehouse where the black and white couldn't be seen. They didn't need to discuss how to approach the call; after years of riding together it was ingrained. Pete went left and Jim went right, both looking for signs of a break-in. Pete found Jim by a door on the backside of the building.

"Are we square?" It was unusual, but going into a dangerous situation with an angry partner wasn't the wisest move. Jim nodded and opened the door; he would cover Pete as he went in first. They systematically moved through the warehouse, always mindful of the other's position. Halfway through the warehouse Pete saw something.

"Jim, Duck!" He was trained to trust his partner so he ducked and felt, more than saw, the two-by-four that barely missed his head. Jim spun and lunged at a pair of blue jeans and the legs inside them. A second swing of the two-by-four was stopped from hitting Jim's back by Pete grabbing the wooden beam. Between the two of them, they got the suspect under control, but not before he yelled for his accomplice to help him. Jim was looking for a pole to handcuff the suspect to when Pete took off; heading for the sound of running footsteps.

Shots broke out, coming from the far corner of the building. Jim pushed his prisoner in that direction, still searching for a pole to handcuff him to; all the while hearing the exchange of gunfire. To Jim, it seemed to take forever to secure the man to a metal stair railing. Then he ran. He wanted to call out to Pete to see if he was okay, but he knew that he needed to keep his presence unknown in order to be effective. He finally saw Pete crouching behind a large wooden crate while he reloaded. A nod of his head sent Jim to a position to the side of the suspect shooting at his partner. Once he was in position, Jim realized that only the suspect was still shooting; the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Jim yelled for the man to freeze and he did.

Pete came out from behind the crate to cover the suspect while Jim searched and handcuffed him. Jim did his job as was required, but he didn't fail to notice the blood running down Pete's left arm.

"Did you take a slug?" Jim asked, as he led the prisoner towards his partner. Pete had pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and was using it to stop the bleeding.

"Nah, A piece of the crate splintered off and hit me in the arm. I already pulled it out." He chuckled, as Jim gave him a complete look over. "It's nothing. Relax, will you?" Once the prisoners were in the back seat of their black and white, Jim returned his attention to Pete's arm. "Look, it already stopped bleeding. Can we just get these guys to the station?" Jim got into the back seat, mumbling something about stubborn partners and Mac.

At the station, Jim went to put the two prisoners in the lock-up while Pete went to the locker room to wash the blood off his arm. He was putting a large bandaid on his arm when Mac came in, followed closely by Jim.

"That was fast; did you even put the guys in the lock-up?" Mac was inspecting Pete's arm. "It's a scratch Mac, that's all." Pete really didn't like people fussing over him, even old friends.

"It's still bleeding Pete. After your shift, I want you to stop by the ER and get it looked at. For now, stop the bleeding and get your reports done."

He was heading for the door when he turned around and handed Pete the index card. It said:

 _Someone to Watch Over Me_.

"It makes as much sense as the other ones." Pete shrugged a shoulder while Jim was wrapping a gauze strip around his arm. "Let's get done with the reports" The rest of their shift was spent booking both men, filling out arrest reports, a shooting report and an injury report. They parted with a promise from Pete to get his arm checked out.

Pete arrived at the ER earlier than he needed to be there to pick up Sally. Dr. Acheson checked out his arm before having Sally clean and bandage it. "Can you manage to not hurt yourself until I'm ready to leave?"

"Unless I get burnt by hot coffee, I'll be fine." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and went back to work. Pete was in the cafeteria getting a cup of coffee, when he spotted Betty Wells. She was sitting at a table in the corner, holding a mug of what looked like cold tea. As he got closer, it was obvious that she was crying.

"Betty? What are you doing here? Are the kids alright?" He sat across from her, trading his hot coffee for her cold tea. She attempted a smile and took a sip.

"The kids are fine. Its Ed's brother. You know he's been sick. He's been dizzy a lot; from the medication. Today, he fell down the stairs; broke a rip and punctured his lung. They put him on a respirator. Ed's up in the ICU. They are only letting family in for 10 minutes an hour." She spoke very quickly, almost like she was afraid her brother-in-law would die before she finished speaking. "Would you check on Ed for me?"

She really didn't have to ask Pete to go up to the ICU, he would have gone anyway. There was something he needed to tell Ed; sometime Ed needed to hear. Stepping out of the elevator onto the floor the ICU was on wasn't easy for Pete. He spent too many days there and it wasn't something he wanted to think about. Ed was alone, pacing in the waiting room.

"Ed? I saw Betty downstairs. She told me about your brother." Ed looked terrible and he didn't seem happy to see Pete, but he nodded and kept pacing.

"Take a seat Ed. I need to talk to you about something."

"Malloy, I don't give a damn about work right now. Whatever it is, it will wait." He understood what Ed was feeling, but he also knew it from the other side. Pete took a seat and pointed to the one next to him. Ed was reluctant, but he did finally sit.

"This is important. It's not about work." He paused as he considered how to approach the issue; it was something he never told anyone. "It's about your brother. Don't leave him alone."

"Do you think I wanna be out here? Geesh, Malloy. That's the rules." Ed started to stand up, but Pete grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back into the seat.

"I know. I spent almost a week in the same position that your brother is in and I'm telling you that you cannot leave him alone. To hell with the rules." Pete ran his right hand through his hair. "Those sedatives they give you, they do knock you unconscious. You can't move, see, hear or touch anything, but they don't stop the pain and they don't shut down your brain." He had caught Ed's attention.

"Right now, your brother is more alone than he has ever been in his life. He doesn't know what's happened or where he is, much less where anyone else is." Pete sighed, once more running his hand through his hair. This was hard for him to talk about.

"Imagine being stuck in a body that hurts, but otherwise is useless. The longer you lay there, the more you begin to feel that it's not going to end. The only break from the terror is when you fall asleep. You try to move, see, and feel something besides the pain, but you can't." Pete had clasped his hands together; he was actually shaking slightly. Ed was getting more worried as he listened to Pete, but he knew that he did need to hear this.

"Your hearing comes back first, but if there's no one in there talking to him, the sounds of the machines add to your fear. I was lucky; I had friends who kept sneaking in. Jim would tell me about Jimmy. Mac talked about work and Woods would keep me up on baseball. I even heard one person sneak in so that he could yell at me. Telling me that I wasn't allowed to die because then he would have no one left to torment." Both men smiled at that; Ed remembered the one sided chastising he gave Pete.

"When you are stuck that way; lost in your mind, you panic. The fear that you will forever be like that will eventually lead to a prayer for it to end. You believe that anything had to be better than where you are. Once you hit that point…..when you reach that level of desperation, suddenly, you aren't alone. There's a…presence…a knowledge that if you give up, the terror would stop. It promises an end to the pain and the hope that whatever comes next is better." Ed reached out and put a hand on Pete's shoulder; supporting him.

"If you brother hits that spot, he will go. Don't leave him alone." Pete stood, moving quickly towards the elevator. He needed to get out of there now that he told Ed about what he experienced while being on a respirator. Ed raced after him.

"Malloy. Wait…" There was something Ed felt like he needed to know. Pete stopped walking; he didn't turn to face Wells, but he would listen.

"Did you really consider letting yourself die?" The thought scared Ed, both for what Pete went through and what his brother was going through down the hall. Pete looked back over his shoulder and told Ed the most important thing:

"I gave up. I was going, when my I heard a friend yelling at me. So, I came back. Good Night Ed."


End file.
